


Soft in the Gut

by jeejaschocolate



Category: Persona 4, Persona 5
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Awkwardness, Blowjobs, Coming Inside, Confessions, Crying During Sex, Developing Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Heart-to-Heart Talks, Idiots in Love, Invasion of Privacy, Jealousy, Life is hard, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Plot With Porn, Police Procedural, Power Bottom, Rare Pair, Rough Sex, Set a few years post-game, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Obsession, So is Dojima, Teasing, These dads am I right?, Voice Kink, Yakuza, basically an AU, bottom!Iwai, dad feels, hand holding, this is actually a love story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-04-05 20:05:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 40,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19047445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeejaschocolate/pseuds/jeejaschocolate
Summary: Dojima gets transferred to Tokyo as part of the organized crime division. His job is to investigate yakuza activity, particularly to keep tabs on Iwai Munehisa. He just can’t seem to get away from the guy.It’s not an easy job, even though it should be.





	1. Dojima makes a mess

**Author's Note:**

> Hello from rare pair hell! I blame the other fic for this pair, written by dojimer. I especially blame the tag they coined: Let the dads fuck.
> 
> Yes. Yesss. Let the dads fuck indeed.
> 
> So I wrote this. It's kind of long, there's a lot going on, but I had a need. 
> 
> TW: The invasion of privacy is non-con. Just a heads up!

Dojima gripped the steering wheel and clenched his jaw a bit tighter. He checked his watch for the umpteenth time. 

This Tokyo traffic was going to be the death of him. For god’s sake, how did anyone get things done? Especially here! In this town, things ran on a clock. His new supervisor—guy named Kawamori—seemed pretty keen on reminding him of that. There were no long lunches, no liquid dinners just before quitting time on a lazy summer afternoon. 

No. This was Tokyo. Fucking Tokyo, where a guy couldn’t turn his head to sneeze without getting someone wet. Where the air was thick enough to choke and that wasn’t even on a foggy day. The buildings trapped air around here. You could clench your fingers on a humid morning and your hands would come away damp. It was the end of July and Dojima was constantly sweating through his button downed shirts. Not even sweat stains looked as normal in Tokyo as they did in Inaba. Nothing did. 

He inched his car a bit forward before the light turned red again. Okay. So he’d made exactly one meter of progress. Great. 

He thumped his head against the back of the seat. Sighing. Trying to rationalize this (he was getting there, just slowly, torturously. A journey of a thousand miles and all that crap). He had to do something because he couldn’t possibly clench his jaw any tighter. 

Wasn’t Tokyo the best. How nice. City of dreams.

Actually he didn’t know what people called Tokyo colloquially. In Inaba, when you mentioned Tokyo everyone’s eyes went wide and they just kind of nodded their heads really fast. As if the thought of this place made the gears in their heads speed up without any output. After all, no one could really imagine this place. No one really needed to. People rarely left. 

Dojima always thought he would be exactly that kind of person. In truth, he liked being a townie. He took pride in being the detective of Inaba, that guy forever chasing down punks by the riverbed. It was a nice little loop he thought he could play out until he retired. 

But then, of course, he just _had_ to go and be great at his job. The positive attitude he gleaned hanging around his nephew worked against him. His bosses saw potential in him and recommended him for a promotion. Dojima wanted to say ‘hell no’ faster than you could spit, but…sometimes a promotion wasn’t always optional. Sometimes a promotion was “we need you in Tokyo. Start packing. Also congratulations,” and that was that. If you wanted to keep your job. 

Besides, it hadn’t been entirely ill-timed. Nanako was in middle school now and she was the brightest kid in her class. Her teachers recommended her for a special program—a magnet school, they called it—in Tokyo and she applied. Got accepted too. Dojima was damn proud of her. The only downside was that the school did not offer housing and Nanako was still too young to live on her own (that was a goddamn lie; Nanako had been more or less living on her own since she was five. But you know, ethically and legally, a twelve year old with their own apartment was still kind of frowned upon). They didn’t have any relatives in the area and Inaba was too far to commute, so…the pieces kind of fell into place. Dojima had his new job and Nanako had her new school. They were both moving up in the world. 

Except moving here felt like anything but a step up. Here, Dojima was embroiled in the world of organized crime. That was his new division. He’d spent the whole first week on the job reading through case files on some of these groups, the resumes—if you liked—of the gang leaders and their cadres. It was enough to turn his damn stomach. The kind of shit people did to each other…

Not even Adachi would have…

…well, anyway. 

Dojima sighed. He checked his watch yet again. This traffic was going absolutely nowhere. He’d probably be better off parking somewhere and going on foot. Even though the side streets here turned him around worse than a carousel off its hinges, but. At least he’d be moving. 

So when he got the chance, Dojima fought his way free of the congested main road and parked near a meter. It was sort of unfair that he had to pay for these things, considering he was part of the municipality too, but he did. Would have been wrong not to. 

Then, Dojima Ryotaro made his way through the people-clogged streets of Shibuya. 

A guy like him didn’t blend in. He could bank on that. At least, if anything the guys at the station—the big, fancy, Tokyo metropolitan police station in that sleek fucking modern looking building with forty floors or whatever—said was true. Crap like: “If you’re going out, take the hay out of your ears first, okay partner?” or “Just don’t go in there smelling like gyoza, alright?” That last one was from Kawamori himself, his damn boss! Plus Dojima knew the guys went around his back calling him ‘Junes,’ ever since he told them the biggest store (and building) within fifty miles of his hometown was a Junes. Apparently Tokyo people didn’t shop at Junes. 

Oh well. Dojima held his head up high and walked with purpose, in a direction he was reasonably sure would turn out to be correct. He wasn’t ashamed of being from the country. He wasn’t ashamed that all the clothes he wore were from Junes and he wasn’t ashamed of the way he talked either—he didn’t have an accent, goddamn it, no matter what those guys—

And yeah, okay, he was lost now. 

“Shit.” Dojima cursed under his breath and pulled out his cell phone. He’d have to use his navigation app. 

Why the hell were these side streets so damn narrow? People would have to walk single file in order to fit! At least right now they were deserted, aside from humming vending machines and a few cigarette butts. 

This city had two faces, Dojima quickly realized. The main streets—the huge buildings and the lights, the hustle and bustle of countless people—and the side streets. The crooked underbelly. Eerily quiet and purposefully so. The side streets were for people to do what they needed to do; whether that was coming up for air, a brief moment of solitude, or crime. 

It felt darker in the side streets. Dojima didn’t know if that were technically possible. But he felt it. 

And there, propped up against a concrete wall, crammed in between some garbage cans, was the store. Untouchable Airsoft Guns. The windows were partially covered with brown paper, was that for privacy or secrecy? Was there a real difference? The visible parts of the store showcased some dummy heads wearing camouflage and a few boxes of bullets. Pellets and paint balls. That kind of thing. 

Dojima wiped the sweat off the back of his neck and sighed. He really didn’t want to fuck around with stuff like this.

Some intel from the organized crime division had turned up a rumor that the guy who ran this place—Iwai Munehisa—was a former yakuza. And of course, the rumor was that maybe he wasn’t so ‘former’ after all. Blood ties and sake oaths were hard to break, everyone knew that. The division was waist-deep in uncovering some of the Hashiba clan’s more unsavory business as of late. They all figured this Iwai guy was worth looking into. Maybe he had a bit of intel he was willing to part with, or maybe he’d be willing to bargain for something. Either way, the police were interested. 

Kawamori had assigned this bit of unpleasant business to Dojima. “You can handle this, lieutenant,” the chief told him. “We haven’t assigned you a partner yet, so…just go in alone. It’ll be fine.” He’d literally waved him off. Ex-yakuza rumors weren’t considered worthy of a two-man team. 

But before Dojima left, Kawamori made sure to remind him: “Just uh…don’t have gyoza for lunch, okay? Maybe order something else today.” 

For fuck’s sake. This gyoza thing was really starting to piss Dojima off.

Maybe it was because of that little comment Dojima decided to redouble his efforts here. He hated toiling around the Shibuya back alleys, permanently hidden from the sun. This kind of stuff rubbed him the wrong way. But he was determined to get something out of this venture. He didn’t want to turn up empty handed to Kawamori (not for the first time actually; he hadn’t exactly been hitting any home runs in Tokyo so far). He wanted to rub it in that guy’s face. 

Plus, this was his job. And, if any of the intel they had on the Hashiba clan was true, someone needed to bring these guys to justice.

So. Dojima straightened his tie (he still hadn’t gotten in the habit of actually wearing a suit jacket, that was just…eh, he’d get around to it) and dabbed the sweat from his eyes with a handkerchief. He would go in there looking like he knew what the fuck he was doing. He’d go in ready to do some business. Ready for this Iwai character, whoever he turned out to be. 

A bell tinkled above him as he opened the door. The inside of the shop was even narrower than the street outside. Barely room for a grown man to browse the shelves. Immediately Dojima was accosted with the smell of factory plastic and oil. He ran his eyes over the merchandise and suppressed a gag of disapproval. The fake automatic rifle hanging above the counter made him want to growl. 

People shouldn’t make shit like this. Realistic looking imitation guns were just as bad as the real thing. They made people curious, made them feel macho and tough, holding those things like they could actually do something…

Okay. Guns riled Dojima’s dad senses. But come on. They weren’t safe. 

There was a man sitting at the counter. Long grey coat and blue jeans with black boots. Dojima got a good look at those boots because they were sitting on the counter, as cavalier as anything. The guy himself was sort of pale looking, wearing a hat, ear guards, and a permanent scowl. He was flipping through a magazine like he had some time on his hands. It took him a fair amount of time to look up at Dojima. You could read his disinterest from miles away. 

Well, yeah. This picture looked right.

“…help you?” the man grunted. He spoke with a true-blooded city accent, fast and rough. Slurred. Each word blended into the next so smoothly that Dojima only heard the last two. There was also something sticking out of his mouth…was that a lollipop?

Whatever. Dojima sauntered in like he had a real purpose, like he wasn’t afraid of taking his time either.

“Afternoon. Are you Iwai Munehisa?” 

The guy’s eyebrow twitched when he heard Dojima speak. A flicker of interest. He let the magazine fall into his lap. “Uh-huh. That’s me.”

Dojima nodded. Of course this was the guy. He noticed a stain of black ink against the man’s neck. A tattoo, some kind of lizard. Weird. He didn’t remember seeing that symbol in any of the case reports about gang signifiers. 

Iwai crossed his arms. “And?” 

Dojima fished his badge out of his breast pocket. He flashed it calmly,low against the counter so that it couldn’t be seen from outside the glass door, just in case there were any potential customers walking by. Dojima hoped Iwai would read that for what he wanted it to be; a peace offering. 

But Iwai seemed unmoved. He glanced at the badge as if it were a comment on the weather. “Yep. I see that. Didn’t need to show it off for me to know what you are.” He paused and took another look. “You with the Tokyo MPD?” 

Dojima nodded, tucking away his badge. “Yes. I’m here to ask you a few questions.” 

“Mm.” All the interest left Iwai’s face. He picked up his magazine again. “Didn’t know Tokyo was recruiting out of towners these days.” 

Some pride eked out of Dojima’s chest. Was it that obvious? 

“But, it don’t matter either way.” There was a soft _fwip_ as Iwai turned a page. “You got questions but I bet I don’t got answers.” 

Dojima rested one hand on the counter. “Well you can imagine why I’m here.”

“Nope.” 

Dojima glanced at the rifle overhead. This whole shop was barely legal for god’s sake! “Right. In that case, I’ll just talk to myself for a bit and you can listen in if you feel like it.” 

Silence. _Fwip_.

“We got some dirt on the Hashiba clan from one of our sources. Real interesting stuff about a guy named Ichijo. Either of those names mean anything to you?”

_Fwip._ Not even eye contact. 

Dojima continued, leaning in. “I say interesting, but what it is is downright disturbing. From what I hear, the Hashiba clan has always been into smuggling. Guns, coke, AVs. Small time stuff.” 

Yes, he was fishing for reactions. Testing if Iwai had hidden pride in his criminal activity. But no, the comment didn’t seem to bother him. Strange. Most yakuza guys would have bristled at that. 

“Lately, though, it sounds like the Hashiba clan is branching out. Getting in over their heads. Trying to make a name in the trafficking business.” Dojima paused for effect. “Human trafficking.” 

Iwai blinked. It was the biggest reaction so far…but it might have just been natural. Hard to tell. 

“And since that kind of bullshit is illegal pretty much everywhere, I’d say the Hashiba clan bit off more than it can chew. They got the feds and the TMPD on their tail. I’m here doing legwork but I’m not the big guns.” He leaned over the counter, infringing on Iwai’s personal space. “Hell no. I’ll let the bigwig judges handle your sentence. Something to the tune of twenty plus years behind bars. Maybe life. And federal prison ain’t a walk in the park, I hear.”

Ladies and gentlemen: The country detective bullies a witness. A play in three parts. 

_Fwip. Fwip._

Finally, Iwai glanced up. “You done?” 

His eyes—there was something in his eyes that stood out to Dojima. Sort of caught him off guard. This guy’s eyes were not…well, they were dark and dismal. The way a yakuza’s eyes should be. But also…sad. There was sadness in those eyes too. Dojima should know; if there was anything he was familiar with, it was what sadness did to a person’s face when harbored too long. 

And yeah, this was the kind of sadness that hung around a while. 

Dojima felt something tugging at his gut. He couldn’t read it though. Was this his intuition? Were his instincts picking up something about Iwai, some hidden tell? Or was this…just a _feeling_. Not a gut feeling. An actual feeling. 

A feeling of what, though? Some kind of humanity where there should have been only malice? Seeing your own sad face reflected back at you? 

The fuck was that supposed to do to a guy? 

…Nothing, that’s what. 

“No, not done at all.” Dojima’s anger—something he didn’t often flaunt—came bubbling to the surface. He whipped out a picture of some recently discovered trafficking victims. Young people being helped out of a cargo truck. The conditions they’d been kept in were deplorable to say the least. 

He threw the picture at Iwai’s feet. “This is the kind of shit the Hashiba clan is doing these days.” Not technically true; they were just involved in moving money around for the smugglers. They didn’t do any actual trafficking themselves. But still, a hell of a crime. And Dojima wanted to push buttons to see how much Iwai knew.

“This the kind of guy you are, Iwai?” Dojima fixed him with a steely, cold gaze. A challenge if there ever was one.

Things had…escalated quickly. 

Iwai glanced to the side for a moment. Then he sighed and ambled to his feet. At his full height, he was about a head taller than Dojima. And the temperature in his eyes was cold enough to nip at Dojima’s spine. Just a little.

“Why don’t you tell me what you’re here for, Mr. TMPD.” Iwai swished the lollipop to the other side of his mouth. How the hell was that threatening? “You said it yourself, you ain’t the feds. So you got nothing on me.” 

He slammed his hand on the counter, covering the disturbing picture. “And I wanna know exactly what the fuck you’re accusing me of.”

Iwai leaned in close to Dojima, using the detective’s own move against him. Now they were a finger’s length apart. Dojima could smell candy sweetness on the man’s breath, it was puffing in his face. He could also smell the musk from Iwai’s worn coat, a scent that was tinged with a younger man’s body spray.

Too close. Dojima could feel the stirrings of a fight in his haunches. Who the fuck was this guy, wearing a scent his nephew would have worn? This guy was probably only a few years younger than Dojima himself! Still, he should know to respect his elders! Getting up in his face like that?

Dojima would have loved to punch Iwai square in the mouth. This guy was… 

…he wanted to say scum, but there was that look from earlier to consider. Eyes like that….fuck, Dojima didn’t know what the hell Iwai was but he didn’t want to look at him any longer.

The only thing holding him back from throwing a right hook was the thought of explaining this to Kawamori. He’d never hear the end of it. A country detective getting into fist fights in Shibuya like the dog he was. Mucking up their case. 

Damn it.

Sucking in air, Dojima took a step back. He shook out his fist as if he actually had punched him. Reflexive habit more than anything else. 

“I’m here for information, Iwai.” His pride was screaming at him, so he tossed out a smirk. “Nice of you to finally join the conversation.”

Iwai’s posture softened somewhat. He sighed himself, then crossed his arms defensively. Age lines pulled at the corners of his eyes. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me everything you know about the Hashiba clan.” 

“Tch. I ain’t been with them for almost fourteen years now.” Iwai plopped back down in his chair. That number was significant—fourteen _years_. Longer than Nanako had been alive. And certainly long enough to be considered a true severing of ties. Quite the feat. Nothing to sneeze at.

It was as if the weight of that number sucked the life out of Iwai. His posture drooped a little more. “I don’t know shit about anything they’re into these days. Sounds like you already know more than me.” 

Dojima…believed him. He could see the truth in the way Iwai held himself. He could imagine the exhaustion of having to explain away something fourteen years in your past. It looked just about the way Iwai looked right now. Tired of defending himself against ancient history. Not to mention the way numbers themselves had a funny way of gutting you. That fourteen must sound like death bells to Iwai’s ears. 

It only gets worse from here, boy. Dojima knew.

But, fine. He accepted that Iwai must really be ex-yakuza and went with another angle. “Alright. What about Ichijo? Tell me what you know about him.” 

Iwai shook his head. “Don’t know nothing. He must have been after my time.” 

That was likely true. Ichijo had only been active for the past five years. 

Hmm. “How about a gang run out of Hong Kong called the Triple Threats? Know anything about them?” They were funneling money into Hashiba for laundering purposes.

Iwai paused for a tense moment. He tapped his fingers against his arm pensively. Finally, he said, “…Might know a thing or two.”

“So tell me.” Dojima took out a pen and paper to write some things down. (Yes, he was old school. Shoot him.) 

At that, Iwai grunted in irritation. He rolled his eyes. “Come on, man. I can’t _tell_ you anything. Not like that. Don’t you know how this works?” 

Dojima stared at him, pen poised in the air. Clearly he didn’t. 

“Ugh.” Iwai rubbed his face. He looked suddenly tired. “Just start saying what you know and I’ll nod if I can tell you it’s a fact.” 

Right. The code. Damn, this guy actually followed that? From what Dojima heard, most gangsters these days just couldn’t be bothered. 

So, Dojima talked at length about what he knew of the Triple Threats. Iwai was stock still and silent for most of it, but occasionally he nodded. Confirming things. Dojima was pleased to get at least one hunch confirmed, but it was a trivial matter. Some of the code words and signals the Hashiba used to communicate with the Triple Threats. 

Still, useful. 

“Okay, that’s all I got.” Dojima nodded as he went over his notes. “Anything you’d like to add?”

Iwai swished his lollipop to the far corner of his mouth. He shrugged. “…Only that a guy who wants some nice Cantonese cooking should check out the Red Lantern restaurant in Kabuki-cho. Heard they got some real juicy pork over there.” 

Dojima nodded again. So, some of the Triple Threats’ money contacts hung out at the Red Lantern. Good to know. …At least, if Dojima was reading the code right. 

“Understood.” …Probably. “Well then, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Wait. Not so fast.” Iwai gestured with his chin at the picture still laying on the counter. “Get that shit out of my store.” 

“Fair enough.” Dojima respected that. He put the picture back in his wallet. 

It was honestly refreshing to find someone else offended by this whole idea of human trafficking. Sometimes the others at the station were so callous towards it all. For Dojima it was different. He’d memorized the faces of those young girls and boys in the picture. He could recognize them in the street, always on the lookout should they need help again. 

He nodded in Iwai’s direction. Some appreciation, at least. A modicum of mutual understanding. He wasn’t going to bow, so. That was it. 

“Nice chatting with you about the fine dining in this city,” Dojima said on his way out. He smirked at Iwai again. “Might have to do it again sometime.” 

“Hope not.” Iwai grumbled and went back to his magazine. 

As Dojima made his way back to the car, he felt actually a little pleased with himself. That had gone…not terribly. Rocky start, but. Dojima had successfully squeezed a contact. In Tokyo, of all places. A yakuza, of all people.

Not too shabby.

He didn’t even care that he had to use his navigation app to find the car. 

___________________________________________

 

Kawamori, however, was far less impressed. “That’s it? A few code words, that’s all you got?” He sighed and passed a hand over his forehead.

The chief was a skinny man with thick black hair, graying at the temples. Older than he looked. Probably the same age as Dojima. You’d think he was a young man at first glance, but the truth of his age popped out at you now and then with his dour disposition. Kawamori never smiled, never seemed to have a comforting thought in his head. He was hyper-focused on the caseload and their orders from the feds. 

The slight breeze in Dojima’s sails evaporated instantly when he saw Kawamori’s annoyed face. 

“God damn it, Dojima-san…” Kawamori dug a cigarette out of his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. Smoking was not allowed inside the station, so Kawamori didn’t light. He just sucked on the cold stick. His habit. “Some chat speak and a tip about the Red Lantern isn’t going to move this case forward.” 

Dojima bowed slightly and mumbled an apology. “That’s all Iwai had, though.” 

“Mmm, not likely.” This came from a guy the same rank as Dojima, considered higher only because he was a known entity around the station. A glasses guy named Tamashiro. Kind of a suck-up. But he had decent field experience. “Iwai has been on our radar for years because of his imitation gun business. His guns look a little _too_ real, don’t you think? It’s basically a known fact he’s been smuggling real ones on the side for a while. We just haven’t been able to pin it on him.”

Dojima frowned. Really? Was that true? Sure, it was possible. But a guy like Iwai…? Dojima just didn’t get that kind of vibe from him. 

“My gut tells me he’s clean,” Dojima announced to the squad room.

Several officers laughed. “Oh, that’s your gut talking? How’d you figure that? Was he wearing something from Junes?”

“Maybe a pair of bargain sandals you recognized, huh?”

That was Higashi and Yoichi. Assholes and two of a kind. Give Dojima a shot of whiskey and two minutes on the street with those guys. Dojima would show them how to treat their elders. Even if his knuckles were bruised the next day. 

But this was work. So he kept his head low and took the abuse.

“Alright, alright.” Kawamori chomped on the end of his unlit cigarette. “Enough of that, for fuck’s sake. Let me think.” 

Suddenly, far from being proud, Dojima was ashamed of how his interrogation of Iwai went. He thought it’d been good. But even that assumption showed how shitty he actually was. Maybe Kawamori should have given him a partner after all just to show him how it was done…

Fuck. Fuck shit and god damn it all to hell. 

Dojima clenched his back jaw as hard as it would go. Hard enough to hear a ringing in his ears.

“…Iwai is our only contact from the Hashiba clan right now,” Tamashiro continued. “Besides this guy Tsuda, who hasn’t been very talkative. I say we interrogate him again. He must know something.” 

“But what?” Dojima answered a bit too quickly. He was coming off argumentative and that wasn’t his intention. “He’s been out of the clan for fourteen years.”

“So he says.” Higashi smirked and shook his head. “I say no way. No one ever really leaves the yakuza. It’s impossible for guys like him. They say it’s their family. You can’t leave your family.”

Yoichi nodded. Always following Higashi, his leader. “That’s right. Scum sticks with scum.” 

Dojima screwed his mouth to one side, fighting back a retort. He needed to develop some kind of rapport with these guys. They were his team. Which meant that even if they were dead wrong, Dojima couldn’t argue them down. It didn’t matter that his gut told him Iwai was out of this game. He needed to follow the crowd. 

God damn. Dojima hated working on a team. It was easier when he was the sole detective back in Inaba—

—but no use getting into all that again. 

“You’re right, Tamashiro-san,” Kawamori decided. “We need to follow Iwai more closely.” 

“Put us on tailing duty, chief. We’ll find out where he goes.” Of course Higashi was the first to volunteer.

That, of all things, Dojima could not let stand. These guys would harass Iwai to no end. That would only backfire—Iwai wasn’t the kind of person you could browbeat. Dojima had learned that much today. Out of all them, he knew the most about Iwai so he should be the one to deal with him. Besides, this was his assignment! Kawamori threw it in his lap and now Dojima would see it to the end!

“Actually, I—”

“Hang on, all of you.” Rising from his seat, Kawamori pulled a set of headphones and a small recording device out of his desk. “I think the feds can help us out with this one. They’ve been breathing down my neck these past few weeks but I think they might finally come in handy.” 

Everyone stared at the technology waiting to see how it was used.

Kawamori explained. “Federal agents bugged Iwai’s apartment some time ago. Before we even landed this Hashiba case. The headphones are tuned to the bug’s frequency and it’s supposed to work from a ten kilometer radius. So we can do some low-key tailing.” 

Low-key? That was a hell of an invasion of privacy! Dojima was momentarily floored that things like this were allowed in the Tokyo police, but…it had approval from federal agents. When it came to organized crime, the authorities played fast and loose apparently. 

“Amazing,” Tamashiro exclaimed. “It’s like the Kusakabe case all over again, isn’t it?”

The chief nodded. “Right. So someone just needs to listen in on Iwai’s apartment for the next few days or weeks and see what he’s really up to. Record it. Tail him when he goes out. A man has to do his business somewhere. We’ll find out where.” 

Higashi clapped his hands together in excitement. “Say no more, chief. We’re on it!” 

Dojima opened his mouth to interject again but Kawamori spoke first.

“Hold it. Listen up. I want Dojima-san on this one.” He held the headphones out for Dojima to take.

That…was surprising. “…Thank you, chief, I—”

“No. It’s not that.” Kawamori shook his head grimly. “I don’t know how they did things in Jun—in Inaba, but here you need to learn to clean up your own messes. This Iwai business is your baby, Dojima-san, and I want you to finish it.”

Dojima took the headset like he knew exactly what he was doing. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, sir.” That much was true, at least. 

Kawamori nodded, satisfied with that answer. “Of course. Now, you know what you need to do. Come back to me with results.” 

The other squad members shuffled uncomfortably. Looking at Dojima with mixed expressions. Mostly disbelief. Borderline disgust. 

“Understood.” Dojima ignored them and bowed curtly to the chief. “I won’t let you down again, sir.” 

“Better not.” With that, Kawamori brushed past them all on his way outside to finally smoke for real. 

Saying nothing to his team—Dojima needed to prove himself with actions, not with words; they’d only have more insults to hurl at him anyway—Inaba’s star detective marched out to his car and promptly cursed up a quiet storm. (He’d learned to whisper his curses under his breath when Nanako was growing up. It was a habit now.)

So apparently he was doing this. Listening in on an ex-yakuza’s bugged apartment. That was his assignment and now it was his responsibility. 

Tokyo was one fucked up place. 

…And if Tokyo was fucked up, what did that make him? 

The shame from earlier still sat a little too heavily in Dojima’s belly. He wasn’t used to failing at his job. Disappointing people was always one of his sore spots, but he’d never had to experience it at work before. This was…rough.

Especially for a guy his age. Learning the ropes all over again? He couldn’t do that. No way.

So. Might as well accept it. Dojima was a big fish in a small pond. He was a good detective back home but here, he couldn’t cut it. That was that. 

And damn it, he had been fine being that detective! He was _fine_ with it! Totally fine, until he came here and now…now he didn’t know what he was fine with. Maybe he wasn’t fine with anything anymore. He just knew he didn’t want to turn up empty-handed again. Didn’t want to always be a failure from a small town. To be a deal-hunting Junes man until the day he died.

Even if Tokyo wasn’t for him, if he’d never amount to much, Dojima at least wanted to succeed in this one thing. One assignment. Getting information from a guy fourteen years out of the yakuza. Couldn’t be too hard. Everyone acted like it was nothing.

Dojima could do this much at least. For his own pride.

He had to. 

________________________________________________________

 

Before he turned on the listening device, Dojima gave Nanako a call. She’d be home from school by now. 

As usual, Nanako was in the habit of fending for herself at night. She commuted to school, made her own lunches and dinners. Helped herself with homework. She was a latchkey kid in the extreme, not that that was at all a change from their usual routine in Inaba. The only difference: Now everything seemed…just a little scarier. Dojima knew what was out there in this town and he didn’t love the idea of Nanako by herself so much. 

He made sure to call her at least twice a day. Once in the morning to confirm that she got to school alright, and once in the evening. They chatted a little bit about her day, Dojima got some cursory information on Nanako’s middle school life. Her studies already surpassed his own (he’d barely finished high school, and that was only a two year vocational school) so they couldn’t bond on that. 

But it was always a relief just to hear her voice. To know that she was okay. 

“I went grocery shopping too. I got the ice cream you like.” Of course she did. 

Dojima laughed lightly and patted his stomach. “Eh, you didn’t have to do that, kiddo. Not like I really need it.” 

“It’s okay, Dad. I know you look forward to eating it when you get home.” How was Nanako so damned perceptive? It was a little scary. 

He was incredibly proud of her. In all things. Always. She was growing up way too fast, but Dojima loved the young woman she was becoming just as much as he loved the little kid who always wanted a story before bed. 

He only had one rule: No boys allowed over the house. Ever. End of discussion. Because for the love of god, Dojima did not know if he could handle any of that just yet. No, never. He’d never be able to really handle it…

“You’re coming home late again, right?”

Dojima gripped the steering wheel and fought back all the anger he had at himself. If only he were better at his job, he could have been home with Nanako already. 

He wondered when his daughter would be old enough to see that her father was a fuck up. Maybe she’d already figured it out. Hell, she was a bright kid.

“Yeah, sorry…” Dojima rubbed his temple. His anger slowly dissipated into tiredness. This was the same old story, wasn’t it? Nothing new. What was the point in getting worked up?

Besides, Nanako’s voice didn’t waver at all on the other end of the line. She just said, “Okay. So I’ll probably see you tomorrow then. Good night Dad.” 

“Good night, Nanako…” 

Did they still say ‘I love you?’ Or was Nanako getting too old for that? Middle school kids didn’t want to love their parents. Not so openly like when they were little. Dojima knew the story. He didn’t want to force anything…

So they ended the conversation in awkward silence. Nanako hung up first. 

Well. At least she was safe. With plenty of things to eat and a good head on her shoulders. Dojima had to trust that Nanako would be alright. Tonight and all the other nights. He would just keep his phone handy, in case of anything.

Now. He had bad guys to catch. 

Or…listen to. God, this was so weird. 

Dojima was parked a block away from Iwai’s apartment building; still within sight, but discreet. He had rushed over here as soon as he left the station. That was a rookie mistake, too. He really didn’t know when the hell he was getting home. He should have grabbed a quick dinner or something before he started. But instead all he had on him was cold coffee remnants left over from the morning. He took a sip. It tasted like sludge but there was still technically caffeine in it. So it would do. 

With the headphones around his ears, his finger hesitated for a few moments before turning on the device. Hanging in the air. He glanced at himself in the mirror and felt a stab of guilt. Listening in on a guy…Dojima looked away with a scowl. 

What a crappy assignment. 

Steeling himself, remembering all the insults from the guys at the station, Dojima turned on the device. 

“…IF I MAKE TEMPURA AGAIN?” 

Whoa, shit, that was way too loud! Dojima fumbled with the headphones as he found the volume. There were already multiple voices (Dojima had no idea where the feds put the bug, but it was picking up signals just fine alright). When his heart rate finally settled, he could start to make sense of them. 

“I’m fine with that. You know I ain’t too picky.” 

Dojima wrote down notes as he listened.

_Two people - M.I. and young man (15? 16?)_

“Alright. I’ll get started and let you know when I’m done.”

For a while there was relative silence. Just the sounds of the television (some sports program, baseball maybe) and some clanging pots and pans. Sounded like the young man, a high school kid, was making dinner for the both of them. After about thirty minutes, he heard him again:

“Dad! Dinner’s ready!” 

“Coming.” 

…Dad? A thread of ice ran through Dojima’s veins. His hands shook as he flipped backwards through his notes. Why hadn’t he known Iwai was a father? It couldn’t have been in his case file; Dojima would have remembered that! And yet, here was this kid, loud and clear. Some high schooler calling Iwai ‘dad.’ 

Fuck. Dojima ran a hand over his mouth. God damn it…

Iwai was a father. He had a _family_ , for god’s sake… It was one thing to bug the apartment of a single guy, but a family? That was just…

Dojima winced as he listened to the two of them eat dinner. He felt like the lowest of the low, doing this. 

“How was school?” Iwai asked.

“Fine. Gyouraba-sensei liked the paper I wrote. He gave me full marks.” 

“Nice. That’s the one about…uh, science, right?” 

“Yup. Physics. Gyouraba-sensei liked my research on string theory and gravitational force. Einstein’s relativity. It’s pretty interesting, so I kind of got into it when I was writing.”

“Uh-huh.” Iwai sounded interested. “I ain’t got a clue what you’re talking about, but I think you took my advice. Work from the heart, right? You gotta put passion into your work. Don’t matter what it is.” 

Dojima looked out the window of his car. He could see a foggy, silhouetted reflection of himself with the headphones on. Iwai’s words cut to his core. Passion. It was truly great advice to give a kid. And here was Dojima, going through the motions and doing something he hated…making a mockery of that advice. An example of what you _shouldn’t_ do.

It was supposed to be the other way around, damn it! 

“That’s right. I did what you told me.” A pause. “Thanks, Dad.”

“You’re welcome, Kaoru. Keep up the good work.” 

This was hitting too close to home. Dojima’s heart—the place where his dad senses lived—melted into putty. Iwai sounded like a good father. Of course, Dojima didn’t have any idea where this kid came from, but he knew from this conversation that Iwai was doing right by him. 

He was a good guy. Dojima nodded to himself as he listened. Iwai wasn’t the scum everyone else thought he was. Dojima was positive of that now. This whole bugging thing was futile. Harassing a man who just wants to sit down with his kid and eat. 

Didn’t Dojima know exactly how that went?

He wrote down in his notes: _M.I. = father_ , underlined several times. Whoever the hell was reading this, he wanted them to know that at least. 

Should he call the station? Tell them this was a bust? 

Sadly, Dojima knew how that would go. They would criticize him for jumping to conclusions. Being a father wasn’t any kind of legal exoneration. And a man could live a double life. Iwai might still be working for the yakuza on the side, or else he might have some latent information he wasn’t keen on sharing out in the open. They wouldn’t see it the way Dojima did. Technically, this revelation wasn’t anything. 

As he listened to the pair cleaning up dishes, Dojima sighed and relented. He knew he would have to keep listening. He could only stop once he had something that would satisfy Kawamori. 

So. He sat. Letting it wash over him. Swatting away guilt, trying to focus on the words and ignore everything else. 

There was a funny kind of irony listening to a guy spend quality time with his kid, when in his heart that’s what Dojima wanted to do more than anything. He forced himself to laugh at it. What else could he do?

“You’re going out with Nakamura tonight, right?” Iwai asked. 

“Yeah! I just messaged him to make sure we’re still meeting at the diner in Shibuya.”

“Mm. Just doing homework, right?” Iwai’s voice edged into slightly darker territory. Sort of like a warning. “Not going out after, are you?” 

The kid—Kaoru, Dojma made sure to write down the name—sighed. “Dad, seriously? Do you think I’m the kind of kid who’s going to pull a stunt like that?” 

“Hey, I don’t know. You’re old enough now to want to do some stuff. I get it.” Iwai’s voice bristled again. “But you better not try anything. I don’t want to get a call from the cops about a kid drinking illegally or something. I’ll drag your ass out of that club myself, you hear?”

It was a hell of a threat, to Dojima’s ears, but Kaoru actually laughed. “Right. Don’t worry, Dad. This is going to be a physics-only hang out.” 

Now Iwai was laughing. He had a deep chuckle, throaty and rough. “I know, I know. I’m just kidding. But seriously, be careful, alright?” 

“Of course.” 

There was a soft rustling sound. Were they hugging? Clapping each other on the back? Had to be something like that. 

Warm familiarity nestled in Dojima’s chest. It overrode the guilt for a moment as he realized how deep their relationship must go. It was rare to find a real good father these days! Dojima had a surge of hardy appreciation for the man. Yakuza or not, Iwai had Dojima’s respect. At least in this.

Maybe next time they met, Dojima would bow to him. Only slightly.

“I’ll probably stay over his place tonight again since it’s closer to school. Don’t wait up okay?” Kaoru was already halfway out the door.

“Right, right. You got the fruit I bought for his parents? You’re staying over there a lot, don’t want to seem ungrateful.” 

“Got it!” 

Iwai was shouting now since Kaoru was on his way out. “Okay! Stay safe! Good night!” 

The door closed on his words. Dojima chuckled. High school kids. They were always like that, weren’t they? Didn’t want to linger with their parents. A few moments later a lean boy with a serious haircut and glasses walked out of the apartment building. Kind of nerdy looking. Dojima surmised that must have been Kaoru. He wrote down his description in the notebook for posterity.

For a while after that, there was nothing but the sounds of television. Dojima really began to feel his tiredness then. The blare of the tv was almost enough to put him right to sleep. Maybe he should call it a night…

But then he heard a _pi-pi-pi_  that must have been a cell phone. Promptly, Iwai picked up.

“Yeah?” …. “Uh-huh, like I said.”…. “Yeah.” …. “So when are you coming over?” 

Suddenly Dojima was wide awake. It was already late night. What kind of company was Iwai having at this hour? 

Shady as hell company, that’s what. No question. Dojima took a gulp of coffee and refocused. 

“Is that so?” Iwai’s voice took on a different quality—one Dojima hadn’t heard yet. It was velvety. Smooth but deep. Then he was laughing. That same chuckle as before.

“Bring it with you then.” 

_10:00 pm call - Possible yakuza contact?_ Dojima took note. This sounded like the real deal. 

“Alright.” … “Sounds fine. See you in a few.” 

With that, Iwai hung up. There was a noise like him ambling off the couch and shortly after, the unmistakable sound of running water. He had decided to take a shower. 

Somewhere in the back of Dojima’s mind, he knew this didn’t seem quite right. There was an inkling of the truth, he would admit it to himself later. Much later. Because the signs were there and Dojima was not exactly a newbie. He wasn’t a little kid, either. This was easy enough to read.

But he kept listening because he had to be sure. And maybe because he desperately wanted this to be a yakuza thing just so he could be done with this assignment. Once and for all. 

People passed by. One young man stood out: He was skinny, wearing an oversized leather jacket, ripped blue jeans, and army boots. His hair was buzzed on one side and slick on the other. Pretty flashy. In general this was a quiet residential neighborhood so a guy like that stood out. Dojima narrowed his eyes and watched the biker-looking dude make a call. 

Right on cue, Iwai’s phone rang again. “You here?”

The guy answered, “Yeah. I’m downstairs.” 

“ ’Kay. I’ll buzz you in.” 

Moments later, the door rang and biker dude pushed his way inside. It was bizarrely succinct to watch these events unfold in this way. Dojima was almost unnerved by it. 

But okay. So Iwai’s company was a man. (Thank goodness! He sighed in relief; Dojima’s original hunch must have been wrong.) And a suspicious looking one, at that! Perhaps the guys at the station were right after all. Once in the game, always in the game. 

He heard Iwai let his friend into the apartment. Their greeting was casual; he heard the sounds of clapped backs. However this guy was to Iwai, he was obviously very familiar. Maybe he would turn out to be a yakuza contact they could use again in the future. Someone else associated with the Hashiba clan. 

Please let it be so. 

“What took you so long?” Iwai asked. There was the hiss of a fizzy drink being opened.

“Thanks.” The guy had a surprisingly high voice. He was younger than he looked. Probably in his late twenties, early thirties. He took a big gulp of his drink, then replied, “The trains were delayed. I waited on the platform for a while. Pain in the ass.” 

“Tell me about it. Can’t catch a break with that shit lately.” Iwai was drinking something too. “How was work?”

“Eh, fine. Quiet. Didn’t sell many books today. I mostly just dusted the shelves.” 

Books? Shelves? Dojima wrote that down in case it was code for something. Had to be. 

“Sounds boring as fuck,” Iwai declared. 

“It was.” There was an audible smile in the man’s voice. For some reason. 

Iwai took a long pull from his drink. Then he said something that made Dojima’s jaw fall right into his lap. 

“Why don’t you come over here and rub that cock all over my face?”

The guy chuckled. “Don’t mind if I do.” 

Everything started happening so fast. There were footsteps and the sound of a zipper opening. Iwai laughed darkly and said something like, “Well, well. Look what we have here. You’re this hard for me already, huh?” 

“Yeah. It was a bitch riding the subway with this thing.” 

“I bet.” 

There were wet sounds. Lips smacking. A soft suck. 

A long, quiet moan. Relief in its purest form. “Fuck, Iwai, you’re…ah man, I was thinking about your mouth all day today.” 

“Mmmm…” A distinctly muffled reply. 

They went on like this for several minutes. Gentle sucking, guttural moans, and floorboards creaking. One of them must have been standing and desperately trying to keep his footing (you could guess which one). 

Dojima’s face lit up bright red. He had one hand over his mouth, mostly to keep his jaw from falling off again. Even though he was technically in the car by himself, a block away, he felt like he was in the room with them. Like he had just walked in on two strangers going at each other. His hands shook as he floundered with what to do.

Shit. His first instinct had been right (he should always listen to his hunches, damn it)! This was a booty call. Pure and simple. 

Fingers fumbling, Dojima quickly removed his headphones with the device still on. His immediate reaction was to leap for the exit. Jesus, his heart was going a mile a minute…

He paused for a moment to catch his breath. His mouth was dry as hell. 

Okay. So, okay. That happened.

Honestly, what could you expect? Listening in on a guy’s personal life! This kind of thing was bound to happen. It just…wasn’t exactly what Dojima expected. 

So Iwai was…like _that_. Huh. That was…something. Or, yeah. 

Dojima gulped. His throat ached for some reason. This was a lot to take in. He couldn’t believe _Iwai_ , the yakuza he’d met this afternoon, the fellow dad he was starting to respect, the man with the sad face that Dojima wasn’t going to forget any time soon…that was the guy sucking a dude’s dick just a block away. Right now.

It wasn’t that big of a deal, really. Except…it was.

…Why? 

Ugh. Fuck this. Seriously. Dojima reached for the ‘off’ button on the device. This was inexcusable. The whole mission was a waste. Dojima was better off just ending it here, going home, getting some sleep—

—In the morning he’d have to face Kawamori. And the rest of them. At this point Dojima was entirely certain of Iwai’s innocence (in a manner of speaking). There was no evidence to deliver. 

But they wouldn’t believe him. They’d hound him for calling it quits too early. The machine kept a record of its usage, but it didn’t record conversations unless you pressed the button. They wouldn’t know Iwai had been doing _that_. Honestly, Dojima didn’t know if he could tell them the truth. He didn’t know if the words would make it out of his mouth. Plus, wasn’t it wrong to talk about what a guy did behind closed doors? Dojima didn’t think he had the right to out Iwai if it wasn’t relevant to the case…

And it was only 10:00 pm. 

Higashi would eat him alive. Yoichi would be spinning bad jokes about how people in the country had early bed times or some shit. Tamashiro would suggest that they go back in again properly, and he would look right at Dojima when he said it. Maybe this time Kawamori would actually demote him. Put him on desk duty or uniform work. Something humiliating as punishment. He seemed like the type to do that.

Hell. That's just what would happen if it turned out he was right and Iwai was innocent. If he was actually into something shady? If Dojima missed some evidence by cutting out early? Well. He'd be ruined forever.

His heart sank. His pride…his goddamn pride couldn’t take it. He still hadn’t proven himself as a detective in this town. At this rate he never would. He was at rock bottom right now and there really was no going back. He couldn’t go back to Inaba a failure. It would stick to him like glue, everyone would know that he couldn’t cut it in the big city, and worst of all…Dojima would remember his failure most of all.

He had to keep going. It was wrong and stupid, but he had to put in the effort. Do his due diligence and prove his resolve.

Besides, what was the big deal. It was just two guys fucking. 

…Right.

Gritting his teeth, Dojima put the headphones back on. 

The two of them had moved way ahead. Way, way ahead. The guy in the leather jacket was moaning rhythmically and there were punctuated slapping sounds, skin against skin. Dojima didn’t know if they were fucking right there in the living room or in the bedroom or what, but either way he could hear them perfectly. Intimately, even. The sounds were peculiarly amplified by the bug. Dojima might as well have been kneeling right next to them.

That…

For some reason, this time Dojima had a very different reaction to the noises. Beyond the guilt and the deep shame, he was…turned on.

Oh, no. 

“Fuuuck, Iwai…did you stretch yourself out before I came over?” 

“Yep. Took care of that in the shower.” Iwai chuckled again. He didn’t sound any different, while the other man was coming apart at the seams. How was that possible? Wasn’t he the one…?

“Now, give it to me good, you hear?” 

Dojima nearly bit through his lip when he heard those words from Iwai’s lips. He closed his eyes as the guilt fell away—it faded into the background as shame and…the other thing took precedence. 

Oh, _hell_ no.

The rhythmic pounding picked up speed. Got louder. Stickier. The punk dude was panting now, moaning hard. Losing control of his voice. Iwai grunted low in his throat a few times. Taking it.

“Yeah…” he encouraged, barely above a whisper. “Yeah, that’s it. Thaaaat’s it…” 

“Oh, fuck, Iwai!” The guy choked on a high-pitched cry. He was probably not going to last long. “How’s that? You like that?” 

“Mmmm—! Not bad…” 

Why. Why did Iwai have to sound like that when he was getting fucked. Why did it have to be so sexy…

Dojima wasn’t really into guys. Not _really_. He wasn’t like _that_. He’d never been with another man before. But, every once in a while, in a blue moon, his eyes would wander somewhere they weren’t supposed to be. A tight ass in a pair of men’s slacks. A button down shirt stretched by meaty pecs. Sometimes…yeah, sometimes Dojima looked at that stuff just a little too long. 

And let’s be honest. He hadn’t been anywhere near another person sexually in a number of years. He stopped wanting that for a while after his wife died. Then, when the want came back a little on its own, he just hadn’t had the time. He was raising Nanako by himself. 

Now…

What the hell had he turned into now? Getting off listening to a yakuza and a biker guy going at each other? What kind of person was he? 

He didn’t know the answer to that. What he did know: His soldier was at full salute, tenting his work pants. Hard as a steel fucking pike. He hadn’t been this hard since…he couldn’t remember when. 

Without thinking, he cupped himself. Oh _shit_ that felt good! Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…

“You gonna come hard, At-chan?” 

“D-don’t c-call me that—ah!” 

Iwai kept laughing, even as he sucked in air to the beat of the younger man’s thrusts. “Aw, come on. I know you love it.” 

“Nnnh…ah, g-god, Iwai…you feel so good—!” 

“Come, then.” Iwai sounded determined. As if he were issuing a challenge, or a dare. “Come inside me. Give me all you got!” 

Before he knew what he was doing, Dojima unbuckled his belt and went fishing in his own pants. He gripped his hard-on—the thing occupying every thought in his mind—and nearly blew his load right then and there. 

Fuck, no, his hand didn’t feel this good! It _couldn’t_! There was no way it felt this good to touch himself! How could Iwai’s lewd words ringing his ears make him feel like this…? 

“Iwai-!” With a guttural yell, the guy came. Presumably inside as he was told.

Dojima’s eyes fluttered closed and he jerked himself faster. Every time he blinked he imagined the scene playing over the headphones. Iwai, naked and all stretched out. Legs wrapped around the other guy. Or maybe he was on his knees. Looking over his shoulder—a tattooed shoulder—and smiling. Taunting the other guy into coming.  Dojima couldn’t stop the thoughts darting around his head. 

...Did Iwai like that? Did he like his ass filled with hot cum? Did it get him off? 

Oh, for fuck…if he liked that, then Dojima had something for him—

He squeezed hard and pretended he was the one inside Iwai. For a blistering moment, it was all real. He could see it and hear it. Almost feel it. 

In that moment, Dojima came. His whole body spasmed, so hard he almost hit his head on the steering wheel. It was more cum than he anticipated and it got all over the floor. On his shoes. 

He made a real mess. Just a real fucking mess.

Headphones slightly ajar, Dojima panted as he listened to the rest of the scene in Iwai’s apartment. There were wet sounds again, this time with a high voice muffled behind something thick and heavy. 

“Whoa, Atsushi!” Iwai sounded like he was caught off guard. “W-wait a sec, don’t just go straight for my cock…” 

A gushy popping noise. “Why not? Don’t you want me to get you off too?” 

“Well, yeah, but…” There was some rustling motion. “How about you get that thing you were talking about? The one I told you to bring.” 

The punk—Atsushi, apparently—sounded energized. Amazed. “Ooh, the vibe? Sure, man, I’ll get it.”

They shared what could only be a kiss. Nothing too romantic, just a peck on the lips. A friendly affirmation more than anything. But, for whatever reason, that struck Dojima in the heart. 

It hit him all at once what he’d just done.

He was worse than the lowest of the low. He was sub-human. He’d defiled his job—his _job_ , the one thing he was supposed to be good at!—and done something…was this even legal? How could it possibly be? 

…No one could ever know. Ever. Dojima would rather be dead and buried before he let anyone know what he’d done here tonight.

And even so. In spite of all the guilt rushing to the surface, nothing stopped Dojima from masturbating one more time as he listened to Iwai getting fucked by a vibrator. 

The only thing he had to clean up his mess were a few napkins from the fast food meal he’d eaten for lunch. It didn’t even begin to cover it. 

Maybe there wasn’t anything that could begin to mop up this mess. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the first part ;) ;)


	2. He tries to clean it up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dojima works on getting a clue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand I'm back. I had to continue this. There were just too many *ideas* I can't help it. I needed more.

There wasn’t any logic to it. If he was being honest. There really wasn’t any logic at all.

And that sucked. Because he was supposed to be a detective, and therefore logic was supposed to be the bedrock of his motivations. _Supposed_ to be. 

But, yeah. There was logic and then there was the other thing: Gut instinct. The way Dojima figured, detectives were guided mostly by either one or the other. There were two schools of thought, two underlying philosophies of detective work. Dojima had sort of always fallen into the second one. He relied on his guts more often than not. 

So…which one was guiding him now? Neither. Then…what was? 

His own depravity? Insanity? The kind of wretchedness that plagued all rock-bottom lonely guys his age?

…Had he been at rock-bottom before now? He hadn’t even known. How could he not have known? 

Alright, alright. Anyway. 

Some actual facts: Kawamori was pissed with the progress Dojima had made on this case. That was a fucking provable thing. You could point to the near daily dressing-downs Dojima was getting from his boss. Every day he turned up less and less evidence, Kawamori’s remarks got more and more brutal. It started withcomments about Dojima’s general effectiveness and experience as a detective, the normal stuff. By now—whole _weeks_ after Dojima was assigned surveillance duty on Iwai—Kawamori was hitting below the belt. Comments about his intelligence, or lack thereof. Degrading remarks on his age. Dementia. Impotence. The gamut. 

Really sick shit. People did not fucking play around in Tokyo. Dojima was starting to get vibes like even if there wasn’t any evidence, maybe he should find some. Seriously, fabricating bullshit? They did that in Tokyo too? Dojima always thought that was small-town nonsense. Laziness. But apparently that flew just fine here too. Not all their evidence and confessions were above board and the higher-ups seemed alright with it.

But Dojima wasn’t. It didn’t sit right with him to plant evidence on a guy. Coerce a false confession with drugs or blackmail or whatever. He’d been down that road before and it always left a sour taste in his mouth for months afterward. For god’s sake, law enforcement was supposed to be the good guys! 

At this point, Dojima was done with all that crap. Done. 

Of course that meant his surveillance of Iwai was stretching on into infinity. Because after weeks of tailing him in the daytime and wiretapping him at night, Dojima still hadn’t turned up any evidence of his affiliation with the Hashiba clan. Nothing on Ichijo or any of his goons. Nope, Dojima was completely empty handed. 

…Well, not exactly empty—

Oh, Christ. Anyway, anyway….

This was a type of insanity. There was no logic in continuing to tail Iwai when it was clear there wouldn’t be anything criminal to discover. Even Dojima’s gut was telling him this was wrong. As wrong as it was possible to be. 

He hadn’t told Kawamori and the rest of the team about the kid Iwai was sleeping with. Atsushi was his name and alright he wasn’t technically a kid. He was in his twenties and he worked at a book store in Jimbocho. Dojima staked out the book store once or twice to make sure. It was true. He even walked in once to ask Atsushi some questions.

He got as far as the cash register before his own embarrassment irreparably fucked him over. Seriously, a man his age, stuttering and blushing as he tried to get a decent interview out of a twenty year old. It was pathetic.

But Dojima just couldn’t look at Atsushi’s face without imagining…that mouth was…it had been—

And the kid had almost freakishly large hands, so maybe he had a—

Dojima choked on his own spit before he could even get Atsushi’s family name. Eventually he just bailed, grabbed the nearest book and bought it before the conversation went any further. A crappy cover story, but it worked. Atsushi rang him up and bowed politely, not perturbed by him in the slightest. Probably hadn’t even made Dojima as a cop. What cop couldn’t finish their own interview, in public?

Technically Atsushi was still a loose-end. Technically, yeah. Dojima hadn’t done much further research on him. The guy looked shady as hell, although he owned a moped, not a motorcycle. The license plate didn’t turn up anything useful. Family name was Yamaguchi, no criminal record to speak of. A better detective would have turned over every stone trying to draw a character profile of the guy, but…Dojima’s gut told him Atsushi was clean. Just a punk. A literary punk. People dressed all kinds of ways in this city. You couldn’t take that as proof of anything anymore. 

So, yes, Dojima hadn’t mentioned anything about Atsushi in his reports to the boss. Not his thinly drawn profile, not the fact that he stayed over Iwai’s apartment at least three times a week. Having wild sex with the man. Wild and…yeah, ‘wild’ pretty much covered it.

Dojima didn’t tell Kawamori anything about the sex. Not about how often it happened, the toys they used, the positions they negotiated and then tried out, how many times they could go in a single night. Even though Dojima knew all of those details. He knew more about the sex than he knew about anything, and that was…not good. 

He didn’t have a reason why he listened every time. Those two could go for hours and Dojima just sat in his car listening to all of it. Intently. As if it were fucking evidence or some kind of interesting novel, or his maybe even part of his job—he kept listening.

Listening and jerking himself off. 

Shit, they had it down to a science now. Kaoru would leave the apartment to go off with his study group or whatever (he also had mentees from the middle school affiliated with his high school; he tutored them several times a week. Dojima actually knew that). As soon as he left, Iwai would dial up Atsushi. No matter what time it was, evening or night, Atsushi would come running over. Dick practically in hand. Iwai had this kid at his beck and call, and he knew it. He even joked with Atsushi about it. They laughed it off. 

As soon as Dojima saw Atsushi downstairs, he knew what he was about to do. Not just the two of them, himself. He kept a roll of paper towels in the backseat of his car now—fucking _paper towels_ , and yes, he’d bought them in bulk on sale; you could take the dad out of Junes but you couldn’t take the Junes out of the dad—and he casually put them on the seat next to him. Getting ready. 

He just couldn’t stop himself when they started going at it. He’d tried. Once, Dojima forced himself not to reach for his dick. He waited a full two and a half hours until they were both spent and Atsushi was getting ready to leave. It was a test of willpower, but he’d done it. Even though…he got so pent up afterward that the second his hand brushed his cock (over pants, accidentally, on the way to the steering wheel) he came. _That_ was embarrassing. Coming in your pants past fifty. Dojima should write a fucking article about it (he really should). 

Whatever it was…something about those two and the sounds they made during sex…it just did things to Dojima. Things that hadn’t been done to him in a long, long time. Maybe ever. He’d never had a source of jerk material so steadfastly reliable, not even with the entire internet at his disposal. Maybe because it was organic, because it was really happening. Maybe there was just something special about the two of them…

Okay. Not the two of them. Honestly speaking, Atsushi didn’t do anything for Dojima. He was just a brat that could barely hold his own against Iwai. He always came way too fast, begging Iwai to slow down (if Iwai was on top, riding him) or apologizing up a storm when he was done. Atsushi was clearly the less experienced one, and that whole angle held none of Dojima’s interest. 

It was Iwai. 

Fuck, Dojima needed to be honest about that one thing at least. Listening to Iwai get fucked up the ass was the sexiest damn thing Dojima had ever heard in his life. 

The things Iwai said stayed with Dojima long after they were done, even after he’d gone home himself. Iwai had this…way about him. He could act cavalier while it was happening, even encouraging. He goaded Atsushi into fucking him harder, somehow always knew what to say to rile the kid up. Teasing or coaxing or even downright asking. 

“Ah, come on, you can do better than that.”

“You gonna fuck me here or what?”

“You call that a nut? Damn, kid, I barely felt a thing…” 

“Do it, just fucking do it. Give it to me, damn it—”

Every word Iwai said stuck in Dojima’s brain. They rang in his ears on an endless loop, over and over until Dojima finally gave in and jerked off. He learned not to fight it. Whenever those words and the images that followed came into his head, Dojima took five minutes (or three, or two) to finish himself off. Most of the time he was in his car. Sometimes he was in the shower or in bed. 

That rough, city asshole way of talking…the surprising smoothness of his voice when he was in the sack…the damn near _plea_ in those words. As if Iwai were actually begging for it in spite of himself. 

Dojima imagined getting a please out of Iwai. It never failed to do him in.

He couldn’t explain it. He didn’t have a reason why this ex-yakuza bastard—a good guy, a dad, not even really dangerous—lit him on fire. A kind of fire that sunk to the very deepest part of Dojima’s being and drove him insane. Burned him from the inside out until he was just a lizard-brained idiot pulling himself off, like a fifteen year old kid barely even in high school. Like a boy, like an animal even. 

It just felt so good. Dojima couldn’t stop. 

He listened. He jerked off. He cleaned himself up (with goddamn paper towels, because this wasn’t supposed to be good or comfortable, and he needed to get rid of the evidence immediately afterwards). Like clockwork. Part of Dojima looked forward to it, missed it on the nights Kaoru stayed in and Atsushi didn’t come over. The tiny part of him that wasn’t drowning in guilt and self-loathing.

He should have told Kawamori about the sex. He should have, he should have. He _really_ should have. But he didn’t. Maybe because that would have been an admission of guilt in itself; that he’d knowingly and intentionally listened to two guys having sex. Repeatedly. Or maybe because Dojima still felt like he had no right to go telling Iwai’s dirty sex secrets to the TMPD. As long as they were immaterial to the case, and they were. It just wasn’t right. Outing the guy, putting him through the kind of ridicule that would certainly follow from the other detectives that loved to hate an ex-yakuza and picked on any perceived weakness. That would have been wrong.

Almost as wrong as eavesdropping on him getting laid every night. 

And that was the worst part: Knowing it was wrong and doing it anyway. Dojima was stuck. He couldn’t keep going like this but he knew he wasn’t going to stop. He couldn’t justify quitting without telling the truth, and he wouldn’t ever do that. He couldn’t stop unless he got information and he wasn’t ever going to get that. There was nothing to get.

So he just…listened. 

He had no right to call himself a detective anymore. Nor to call himself a police officer. An honest human being. A decent guy. He wasn’t any of those things and yet still…

“That’s incredible, Mune…” Atsushi was already breathless. They’d only been going for about five minutes. 

It was going to be a fast night. Dojima could tell. He tightened his headphones and unzipped his pants. Slowly, he slipped into the headspace that allowed him to do this. Whatever the fuck was guiding him, it wasn’t logic, it wasn’t anything proper or even legal…it was strong. Dojima surrendered to it every time. 

He sighed and closed his eyes. His hand dipped into his pants practically on its own. That feeling, his hard cock finally getting some attention, was like a drug (Dojima had never been on drugs in his life, but he could imagine). He moaned and stroked himself gently, trying to keep pace with the two over the headset. 

“Ah, damn, how do you do that to my balls…?” Atsushi’s voice quivered. 

Dojima reached further down to play with his own balls. He knew Iwai was sucking on that punk dude right here and he pretended his hand was Iwai’s mouth. Felt nothing like a mouth, but. It wasn’t bad. 

Shit, no…it wasn’t bad at all… Dojima’s head thunked against the car seat. He could feel tension slipping out of him. 

This was the worst kind of sin, but at the same time, it was the only thing that helped him relax after a shit day of pointless work. A boss that didn’t appreciate him. Somehow this guilty pleasure was the only remedy. That’s how the cycle perpetuated itself.

“Not bad, huh?” Iwai gloated. There was a wet sound with an open-mouthed chuckle. 

Atsushi gasped and sucked in breath through his teeth. “Sh-shit…your tongue…”

Dojima wanted to laugh. Iwai could make Atsushi come so easily it was ridiculous. That had to be an ego boost for him…but then how much of a man could you feel like when you had another guy’s junk in your mouth? Dojima didn’t know. He’d never done it before.

…What did it even taste like…?

He wasn’t curious, he just…his mind went there by itself. 

Swatting that idea aside, Dojima focused on the sounds. He imagined that instead of that bookish dude it was him standing there. That he was the one getting a blowjob from Iwai with all the perks. If he squeezed his eyes tight enough, it wasn’t that hard to picture.

Iwai would be down on his knees doing all the work. He’d still have that cocky grin on his face, that bulletproof exterior. Maybe he was covered in tattoos under his clothes. Dojima didn’t know.

He wanted to know. Stroking himself faster, Dojima sighed and wished that he knew.

“Fuck, you know I’m not gonna last, Mune-chan…” They were in the habit of calling each other pet names now. Dojima couldn’t explain why that turned him on even more. 

“Heh, yeah, I know that,” Iwai snickered. He audibly redoubled his efforts and spoke over Atsushi’s moans. “I’m planning on it. I want you to come down my throat tonight.” 

_God_ damn it…Dojima wasn’t going to last either.

“Shit—! Ah…” It seemed Atsushi was at his limit. He punctuated his moans with short thrusts, Dojima could hear them loud and clear.

Iwai popped off. Satisfied. “There you go. Good.” 

Hearing the pride and complete approval in Iwai’s voice was enough for Dojima. Fuck, there was something so incredibly hot about Iwai appreciating sex like this. Dojima had never known anyone like that before. Someone who got personal satisfaction out of sucking cock, out of making someone else come. He’d only known sex as something people did in hushed voices and short-lived memories. Things you didn’t talk about during the daytime, probably because you didn’t want to remember it yourself. You didn’t want to replay all the things you’d said and done in the act…they weren’t your finest moment. They were you at your most vulnerable and it was hard to square that with the person you were in the daylight.

But Iwai was different. This couple was different. They had light-hearted sex and talked about it casually. Like it was the same as discussing what you wanted to have for dinner. Just any old topic. Something that was fun, that felt good, and that you could take pride in. 

Dojima couldn’t even imagine being that way about sex. He…well, could he? Look at him now, coming in buckets over some illicit conversation happening on the other end of a wiretap. He had enough issues to fill a goddamn riverbed. Too many personal problems to work through.

It sounded so nice though. Iwai’s scowl turning into an easy smile. A lighthearted kiss. It sounded real fucking nice.

This was the worst part of the whole thing. The feeling Dojima got after it was done and he had to deal with his guilt for the rest of the night. Not just the guilt, the other thing too. The…he wouldn’t give a name to it. Even though he knew what it was. He just called it ‘that damn thing’ in his head. The feeling that he was being left out. That he was listening to something he would never have for himself. 

Because he never would. And that…well, it was annoying, but it was just some weird idea that had planted itself in his head when he started all this. It wasn’t real. On top of that, it wasn’t something he deserved to entertain while he was committing these kinds of crimes. 

He was being so damn selfish. Worse than selfish, how could he even call himself a father when he was doing shit like this? Despicable things. Spying. Getting off while they didn’t even know he was there, listening. That wasn’t worthy of a father and it certainly wasn’t anything a detective should be doing. 

This needed to stop.

…It was never going to stop.

______________________________________________

 

“Hey, Junes.” 

Dojima looked up wearily from his desk. He wasn’t sleeping well at night these days (no wonder why; he didn’t get home until the early hours of the day and there were always way too many thoughts in his head to ever really settle). It was starting to take its toll on him. 

And here was that bastard Tamashiro. Blinking down at Dojima from behind his glasses, looking owlish and sharp. Not a hair out of place. Tamashiro struck him as the kind of guy that would rather die than show up to work looking like he’d just come out the other end of a long fucking night. He was perfect on the job. Relatively young. A ladies man probably. Who the hell knew.

Not a guy Dojima felt like dealing with. 

“Yeah?” he grumbled, rubbing a hand over his chin and wincing at his own five o’clock shadow. The stubble he’d been neglecting too long. 

Tamashiro threw a file onto Dojima’s desk. It took Dojima a few seconds to orient himself enough to read the name: ‘Tsuda.’ 

He opened the file and perused the pictures. A heavily tattooed man bearing the insignia of the Hashiba clan in one picture, then the same man in a dark grey suit and sunglasses. Typical gangbanger. 

“The hell’s this?” Dojima asked, glancing at the criminal’s track record. 

“A gift.” Tamashiro pushed up his glasses and shrugged. “I felt like being nice today. Don’t worry, fix my tea tomorrow and I’ll call it even.” 

This guy Tsuda seemed like a run of the mill gangster. Dojima still wasn’t getting it. 

“But what is this? Why him?” he asked. 

Tamashiro sighed. “Come on, Junes, get a clue. Have you really been tailing Iwai this whole time without ever looking up the other guys he ran with back in the day?” 

…Huh. Well, now that Tamashiro said it, that sounded like a good idea. 

“I…was getting to it…” Dojima said lamely. He rubbed the dark circles under his eyes and took another look at the report. 

According to this, Tsuda was close to Iwai’s age. They joined the yakuza around the same time. But Tsuda stayed long after Iwai left. He became a lieutenant for a short while before seeming to disappear off the face of the earth. Still, chances were that if Tsuda and Iwai were blood brothers, Iwai might know where he was now. Tsuda probably had more information on the current state of affairs than Iwai did. 

This held water. Definitely worth a shot. 

At last, a way out of this mess.

Dojima peered at Tamashiro dubiously. “…Thanks,” he said. Hesitant to really accept any kind of help from a guy like this. There had to be some debt to be paid or else maybe this four-eyed bastard would lord it over him for the rest of their lives.

But Tamashiro just shrugged. “Don’t mention it. We’re on the same team here.” 

That…was true. 

Before Tamashiro walked away, he nodded in familiarity at Dojima and said, “Tomorrow. Tea. Got it?” 

A slow smirk broke over Dojima’s lips. Right. Teammates. This was how it worked. He and Adachi sort of had a relationship like this before…all that. And actually it had been a nice environment to work in. For him, at least.

“Got it.” He saluted Tamashiro casually. 

If this lead turned out, he’d fix Tamashiro’s tea for the next ten years.

_____________________________________________________

 

Being in the Airsoft shop again was comforting in a weird way. Dojima had imagined this place so many times, but he’d only actually been there once. Even so, Iwai’s presence in his mind was always surrounded by this place. The strange, dangerous but de-fanged aura it had. These things were synonymous to Iwai now. It was almost funny.

Or at least it would have been funny, if Dojima hadn’t been up all night sweating over actually seeing Iwai again. 

The guy was going to make him. He’d see through everything in a second. He’d know what Dojima had been up to these past few weeks. He’d fucking kill him—or worse, he’d turn him in to internal affairs. He could destroy Dojima professionally and legally for the rest of his life if he wanted to—

No. No, no, no. Calm down. That hadn’t happened yet.

Gathering every remaining fragment of guts he possessed, Dojima marched into the shop with his shoulders back. Ready to go. The place wasn’t empty; there was a customer pursuing the shelves. A heavyset civvie that Dojima had seen before on his tailing duty. The guy always came to look but never seemed to buy anything. He was just a gun fanboy. 

Dojima paid him no mind. Saying nothing, he walked straight up to Iwai and threw a picture of Tsuda on the counter. 

No pleasantries. No games. This time it was all business. Nothing else. 

Nothing, goddamn it!

“This guy. Tsuda. He’s your boy, right? I want to know about him.” 

Iwai sighed. He caught the eye of the customer (who was openly staring) and nodded at him. The guy accurately read the signal and scurried away. Now it was just the two of them.

Shit, Iwai was better looking than Dojima remembered. Yeah, he wasn’t a young guy, but he wore his age well. The dour look on his face worked for him. When he sat up—like _that_ —at his full height, he was honestly attractive. Any woman would think so, Dojima figured. Or man. 

His eyes darted to Iwai’s chest. Burly, but not bulky. Well-built but lean. Hidden underneath so many clothes—

“You again?” Iwai barked. “Thought I told you not to come back. I gave you everything I knew last time. We’re done.” 

Fighting back his blush (immediately, fucking _immediately_ he’d gone there. Why, why had this guy completely broken his brain, why was Dojima so wrapped up in him, it just didn’t make any fucking sense), Dojima cleared his throat and adjusted his stance. Trying to make himself seem taller. He didn’t know why it suddenly bothered him to know that Iwai was so much taller; Dojima had always been short and never minded. But compared to a guy like Iwai…who was so comfortable on his knees…

Dojima ground his back teeth together and stabbed the picture with his pointer finger. “That was before I got intel on this Tsuda guy. He was in the clan longer than you, right? I got some questions for him. Where is he?” 

Iwai glanced furtively at the picture. He gave a quiet snort and reached for his magazine. “Never heard of him.” 

Fury rippled through Dojima like a stiff breeze through a pinwheel. Turning his gears in the worst way. He was too damn tired, too damn wound up, too far outside of his comfort zone (in so many ways) to deal with this code bullshit. 

He lost it. “Don’t fucking lie to me!” 

To emphasize his point, he turned to the nearest rack of plastic bullet casings and pushed it to the floor. Bullets went flying in a million directions. Plastic shattered. Most of the contents probably wouldn’t be sellable now. 

And Dojima wasn’t fucking done. He’d turn this whole place upside down until Iwai answered his questions! 

He stood over the mess of bullets and crumpled merchandise, heaving like a madman. Squared off, ready to fight if that’s what Iwai wanted to.

But Iwai didn’t even flinch. He just narrowed his eyes at Dojima. He didn’t seem intimidated in the slightest—he didn’t even seem angry. Still, he didn’t reach for the magazine again. Dojima definitely caught his attention. 

That felt good. 

Iwai crossed his arms. “What do you want with Tsuda, anyway? He’s been out of Hashiba for a couple years now. What do you think he’s really gonna tell you?” 

Dojima was caught off guard by Iwai’s calm response. And by the strange way his heart seemed to cheer happily to have Iwai’s interest. It was weird standing here now. In the face of that huge mess he’d just made. He felt like a kid who’d just thrown a tantrum. Which is what police brass tactics really were at the end of the day. Tantrums.

Not a great look.

Scratching the back of his neck, Dojima reiterated his purpose. “I already said. I need info on Ichijo. I’m betting Tsuda knows the guy. They worked together for a few years.” 

Iwai’s chin dropped to his chest as he considered that. “Ichijo, huh. That’s the one you need.”

There was a tense moment of silence. This hadn’t gone at all the way Dojima expected. He wasn’t coming off like a tough guy at all. Instead, he was more or less hanging on Iwai’s every word.

Which was way more accurate than it should have been.

To make matters worse, Dojima couldn’t help noticing that Iwai had less stubble than he’d had last time. His face looked a little cleaner. Did Atsushi like a cleaner face or was this Iwai’s regular style…? 

A heaving sigh escaped Iwai’s chest. “Alright.” 

Dojima blinked stupidly. “…Alright?” 

“Yeah, I said alright. For fuck’s sake.” Iwai rose to his feet and disappeared into the backroom. 

Dojima fully thought Iwai was going to come back with a shotgun—a real one this time—so he reached for his truncheon futilely. Yeah. He’d left all that shit in the car.

So he was fucked.

But when Iwai returned, he had nothing on him except a broom and pail. The kind all shopkeepers had. He wordlessly began sweeping up the mess Dojima made. 

Dojima stepped out of his way. Right now, all he saw was a guy working for a living. Trying to lead an honest life. Unfairly used to this kind of abuse from cops. Because clearly, Iwai’s shop had been ransacked a few times before. He was way too calm about it. 

Damn. This whole thing wasn’t the way it should be. None of it. 

“Just give me a few days, alright?” Iwai said. Gruff as usual but surprisingly earnest. A similar tone of voice he used when he was asking for a good fuck… “I know where Tsuda is, but I can’t tell you. That’s a secret. I can ask him for you though. I’ll find out if he has anything on Ichijo.” 

“Oh…well…” The deal sounded reasonable. Dojima wasn’t sure how to agree, there might be something he was missing. 

Iwai continued, “Me and Tsuda got no love for the Hashiba clan. They did us wrong one too many times, you hear me? So we’ll help you.” He dumped the bullets into the nearest trash can. “But that don’t mean Tsuda’s got anything you can use. I have no idea what he’s got. All I can do is ask the question and make sure he’s telling the truth. That’s it.” 

Dojima nodded. It made sense. He couldn’t imagine there was much else Iwai really could do, so he was grateful to have this. 

Iwai was helping him even though Dojima really didn’t deserve it. Why? Well…because he was a good guy. He hated the human trafficking thing as much as Dojima did. And the Hashiba clan didn’t mean anything to him now. He just cared about his brothers. 

Fair enough. For the second time, Dojima found himself thinking that, all in all, Iwai was fair. 

Dojima respected fairness. Only now, beyond respect, there was a little twinge in his chest that made his knees feel jello-y…ah for god’s sake…

He clicked his teeth and scraped his foot against the ground. Bashful as fuck, as much as it pained him to admit.

“Come back in a few days, okay?” Iwai thought for a second. “How about Thursday? I’ll get to Tsuda by then and I’ll tell you what he knows.” 

“…Fine…” Dojima muttered. “I’ll be back.” 

Better to just leave now before he made himself into any more of a fool…

Iwai blocked him from leaving. He stood in the doorway looking vindictive all of a sudden. “Oh and uh, you owe me 10,000 yen, Mr. TMPD. Those bullets ain’t cheap, you know.”

Naturally. That was fair too. Dojima reached for his wallet. He placed a few bills on the counter.

At that, Iwai looked completely taken aback. His eyes went wide and his jaw hung open in disbelief. “Whoa…you actually paid just like that…from your own wallet, even?” 

Oh. Maybe Iwai had been kidding about owing him any money. Dojima stood there awkwardly, unsure if he should take the money back or just leave it as a show of good faith. His arms hung uselessly in midair, shaming him with their inaction. 

Iwai chuckled in the back of his throat. He snatched the money before Dojima could rescind the offer. “I’ll take it,” he said, pocketing the bills swiftly. 

There was a playful smile around his lips. Dojima was momentarily fascinated by it. Iwai looked ten years younger with that face on. 

Then he tipped his hat and nodded. He said with no small amount of mirth, “Well. Thanks for the visit, Officer.” 

Dojima couldn’t help laughing a little. Somehow Iwai had managed to diffuse the tension. By refusing to get on his level when things got heated. That was smart. With everything said and done, Dojima had to admit he was impressed.

Besides, he found Iwai likable. He liked him. There was no getting around that fact. Even if it was fucked up and wrong and perverted and insane…Dojima liked him. 

“Heh. Yeah. It’s ‘detective,’ actually.” He smiled lopsidedly at Iwai. Completely unconfident but trying to play it off. “I’m a detective.” 

Surprised again, Iwai tossed his head back and gave a short laugh. “Ha! Right, right. Detective.” 

That smile. That was the smile Dojima imagined when he was listening to them. Cocksure and comfortably bewildered. That was Iwai’s smile. It tugged the age lines in his face but Dojima only found that more appealing. 

He looked good when he smiled. Not cute, ‘cute’ was a crazy word to use. Iwai wasn’t cute by any stretch, he wasn’t a slim girl apologizing for stepping on your foot accidentally. Not that kind of cute. 

But…in a way…Iwai was. Cute. 

Dojima felt his face heating up again. He could smell that same young man’s body wash on Iwai. It struck him for the first time that maybe the scent wasn’t Iwai’s, maybe it was Atsushi’s. And it clung to Iwai because they’d spent the night together. Right, last night he and Atsushi had gone down on each other (what did they call that? 69 or 72 or something? Some number). Then Atsushi had pushed Iwai down hard and given it to him rough. Until Iwai was yelping—

With that scent in his nostrils, something in Dojima’s head clicked. He could imagine it so much better now—

—Oh, fuck. He felt a little stirring below the belt. Something that he definitely should not have right now. At work, in front of Iwai himself—

Dojima mumbled a goodbye and practically ran out the door. He ran all the way back to his car, shut the door behind him, and slammed his head against the steering wheel. Trying to curl up into a ball. A tight ball with a ludicrously big hard-on. That’s what he was. 

Just leave him with his hard-on and his depravity. That’s all he was worth. 

Keeping that image of Iwai’s smile and scent in his head, Dojima sunk as low as it was possible to sink in his seat. He jerked himself off on the spot. He was parked in a side street this time, relatively out of view. People weren’t passing by. He covered his lap with a newspaper just in case. Like a degenerate. 

_“Do it, just fucking do it. Give it to me, damn it—”_

Those words played over and over on a track in Dojima’s head. He imagined a different version of the scenario that just took place; this time, instead of knocking down the rack, Dojima grabbed Iwai and bent him in half over the counter. He fucked Iwai raw. Good and hard, like Iwai always begged for. The way that only Dojima—a grown ass adult with a bad temper—could give it to him. 

“Fuck yeah,” Dojima whispered between clenched teeth. “I’ll give it to you—”

The memory of Iwai’s honest laugh pushed him over the edge. It worked too well. 

Panting, coming down from his orgasm, Dojima wiped his mouth. He’d drooled a bit during that one. Too focused on the pictures in his head. 

Well. This was a new low. Masturbating in the middle of the day. In his car. On the street. 

This was a fucking nightmare. Except…well, except for the fact that he’d just blown his own mind. Jerking off like that felt better than any masturbation should. That was the real problem. The masturbation didn’t feel like masturbation when he was doing it. Somehow Dojima’s imagination had gotten too vivid for its own good. Probably because he was used to hearing it happen for real…yeah that was probably why.

“Shit.” Dojima balled up the newspaper and started his car. 

Goddamn it, he still had work to do.

___________________________________________________________ 

 

As the day went on, Dojima allowed himself to acknowledge the fact that he’d made some progress with the case. The deal he’d struck with Iwai sounded promising. At the very least, he would have something to bring to Kawamori. For the first time in god only knew how long. 

It was progress. It was good. The extraneous stuff, the bad stuff…well that wasn’t so important. No one knew about it, so. 

No one ever had to know.

Dojima rewarded himself by skipping his nightly wiretapping session and going straight home to Nanako at the end of the day. He’d gotten enough info for the time being, no reason to belabor the point. He didn’t need to infringe on Iwai’s privacy any more than he had to today. (One sexual fantasy should be enough, damn it.) 

Nanako was happy to see him. She gave him a big hug when he walked through the door. Hugs were something that rarely happened anymore. Nanako was getting too old for all that now.

But this time Dojima accepted it gratefully. He hugged her back and basked in a moment of contentment. That feeling of knowing Nanako was happy and safe. There was no other feeling like it in the world.

“Hey, kiddo. How’s it going.” He spoke into her hair. She was way too tall these days.

“I’m glad you’re home,” Nanako said with sincerity. “Let me heat you up some dinner.”

“Sounds great to me.” Dojima took off his tie and work clothes. He basked in the tub for a few minutes while Nanako got the food ready. 

This is what a man wanted to come home to. This was home. 

He felt good for approximately seven seconds. Then he remembered how he’d spent his afternoon and felt guilty all over again. 

Maybe the guilt would never fully leave him. That was okay. He could live with guilt. Hell, he was used to it! He’d been a terrible father for most of his life. He’d grappled with the idea of being a terrible detective many times. This was nothing! He could handle this.

“Here.” Nanako set a dish of pork fried gyoza in front of him. Her own recipe. It was one of his favorites. She was spoiling him tonight.

“Hmm?” Dojima began to eat, savoring every last bite. “You made this? I thought you were just heating something up.” 

Nanako smirked conspiratorially. “Well, yeah. All food needs to be heated up. That’s called cooking, Dad.” 

Dojima grunted. “Watch it, smart ass. You know what I meant. What’s the occasion?” 

Nanako’s smile turned secretive. She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m in a good mood today.” 

That much was obvious. Her steps seemed lighter. She was practically dancing around the apartment, cooking and cleaning. Humming a bit. She looked like a woman in—

Nope. Dojima didn’t like that at all. Not one bit. Absolutely not. He opened his mouth to give her the same old tirade (‘not under my roof,’ ‘I don’t want to hear any of that nonsense until you turn eighteen,’ ‘keep your nose in the books,’ etc., etc.). 

But then…he reconsidered. Nanako wasn’t getting any younger. She was a young woman out there in the world. She had feelings. Everyone had feelings. Dojima was learning a lot about his own feelings recently. They were things he’d never expected to deal with and they were in his face every second of the day. The last thing he could do was pass judgement on his daughter for being similarly smitten (even though Nanako had no idea about the specifics of that stuff, and she certainly wouldn’t for a long while). 

It made no sense to fight the flow of time. Especially if it…made her happy. As long as she knew what she needed to do. And she did. Nanako wasn’t an idiot. Dojima was confident of that.

Nanako didn’t have a lot of happiness in her life. It was wrong to rob her of small moments of joy. All the tough stuff was still further down the road.

“Uh-huh,” Dojima said at last, munching on gyoza. “So when do I get to meet him?"

Nanako turned bright red. She almost tripped over her own two feet. (Definitely his daughter.) “Dad! What are you talking about?! I don’t…it’s not…I mean…!” 

Dojima sighed. “Yeah, yeah. Calm down. I know.”

“No you don’t!” Nanako rushed to clear the plates. Dojima hadn’t even finished. “This has nothing to do with boys, okay? I’m just…”

“Just what?” 

“Just…” Nanako fidgeted. “…I’m just excited. There’s a festival coming up at school and my science project got chosen as a feature.” 

Oh. Relief and pride burst through Dojima. “Aw, really? That’s great, Nanako! Was this the project on…what, space, right?” 

“Yup.” Nanako’s face glowed. She was happy her father remembered. “It’s a cardboard model of Hawking’s string theory. I used dental floss as the strings.” 

“Very nice. It’s an honor to be chosen like that. I’m proud of you, kiddo.” Dojima wasn’t exaggerating at all. It seemed like every day Nanako showed him more and more how smart and special she really was. He wished his wife could see her now…but, he always wished that. 

It was enough to know that Nanako was excelling at her new Tokyo school. At least one of them could be successful here. 

Nanako grinned. She was clearly proud of herself. “Yes. The high school teachers from our affiliated school picked me. Gyouraba-sensei in particular seemed very impressed.” 

That name…it pulled at something in Dojima’s head. He remembered that name. Where had he heard it before?

“Hmm…” He popped another gyoza in his mouth and tried to think. “Gyouraba-sensei. You’ve told me about him before, right?” 

“Have I?” Nanako frowned. “I don’t think so. He’s one of the high school teachers. I just met him today.” 

“Really?” Dojima scratched his chin. That didn’t add up. 

He was positive he’d heard that name somewhere. He never forgot a damn name. It was part of being a detective. Gyouraba-sensei and science…that rang so many bells…was it—? 

Oh. No. _Hell_ no.

“Hey, Nanako…” Dojima knew the answer already. He was just torturing himself by asking. He felt he had to face reality with a grim sense of nihilism. He had to. Be a man. “Do you get mentors from the high school?”

“That’s right!” Nanako beamed. “So you were listening the other day when I told you that, huh.” 

Actually, Dojima hadn’t been. He was putting the pieces together on his own. “Yeah. And uh…what’s your mentor’s name?” 

Nanako tilted her head to the side. “Iwai Kaoru. Did I say that already?” 

The gods were punishing him. They’d stopped just short of throwing lightning bolts down at him from the heavens. It was what he deserved…he deserved this, damn it.

But god. 

_Why_.

Fuck. Fuck shit ass. And fuck him straight to hell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Dojima didn't sign up for any of this. But he's in it now ;) ;) 
> 
> Updates might be a bit slow, fam. If you follow my tumblr then you already know, but I've got a new baby at home and I'm still adjusting to being a mom. It's great, but it's a lot of work o__o. Time to myself is a relatively rare thing, so I bask in it while it lasts lol. That said, I do plan to update some day!! Hopefully soon! (Sleep, son, let me write about the dads fucking...also, who am I...) 
> 
> Thanks for reading ^___^


	3. He fails miserably

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's that double-edged sword doing here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOOOOO sorry for the long break! I've been busy with life...and...distractions.... (looking at you, Akechi, looking at you. You crazy fuckboy with daddy issues...) And anyway! I'm back! This story is back on.
> 
> Oh, it's on. ;) ;) ;)

As promised, Dojima bought Tamashiro tea the next day. In fact, he went a few steps further: He took the four-eyed fuck out for lunch. A ramen shop a few blocks away from the station that had pretty good tea. Sloppy and quick. It was Dojima’s favorite lunch place.

The perfect place for talking man to man. There was something Dojima needed to check. 

Tamashiro, for all his putting on airs, seemed pretty used to manhandling a bowl of wild noodles. He pocketed his glasses in his jacket pocket and went to town. 

It felt normal. Two cops enjoying an afternoon of cheap soup. Dojima felt normal for five fucking seconds. 

He clung to it for dear life.

“I think that tip you gave me is going to turn something up,” Dojima announced to Tamashiro, wiping his face on the back of his hand and throwing his credit card on the table. He pressed the button for the waiter. 

Tamashiro reaffixed his glasses and sipped his tea. Not a single drop of soup on his girly face. “Good. It’s about time you made some headway on this case. Took you long enough.” He was already tapping away on his phone. Texting God only knew who. 

With hot noodles in his belly, Dojima didn’t mind the jab. In fact, in some way, it felt kind of normal. Tamashiro wasn’t being nice to him, but he wasn’t being mean either. He was giving him shit and that…well, wasn’t that what cops did to each other? His words stuck in Dojima’s mind: _We’re a team._

“Well, if it does, I’ll take you out for noodles again,” Dojima offered, knocking back his beer (he took beer with lunch, not tea). 

Tamashiro glanced up from his phone. “Wow. The man from Junes is a big spender after all. Not as cheap as I pegged you for.”

“I always got money for noodles.” Dojima stuck a toothpick in his mouth. “And information, of course.”

“Naturally.” Tamashiro put his phone down. Actually looked Dojima in the eye (that wasn’t common with young guys these days. Dojima felt like he had won something). “What else do you want to hear?” 

“So how’s this Hashiba case going, really? On the boss’s side of things, I mean. Making any headway? Because I haven’t heard jack.”

That was the bottomline. There was something…off about this whole investigation (and no, not just Dojima’s delirious sexcapades, something else too). There was no information about Ichijo coming in from anywhere, no news from Kawamori, none from the other detectives. There was radio silence on all sides with this case. Dojima was starting to feel like they’d dumped a cold case on him without telling him. What kind of progress was he expected to make if the whole department was shooting blanks? 

Tamashiro nodded seriously. “That’s the thing. There isn’t any headway. We’re all sort of…stumped.” He pushed up his glasses to hide the inherent shame in admitting such a thing. It didn’t look like shame on a guy like Tamashiro. It looked like modesty. Fuck, Dojima was jealous of that!

“Thought so.” To be fair, it was obvious enough that even a rube like Dojima could figure it out. “So what’s the game plan?” 

“Honestly?” Tamashiro straightened his lenses. “There really isn’t one. Iwai Munehisa is all we’ve got right now. He’s our only connection. The other connections we have from Hashiba aren’t talking. Hashiba seems to have this weird ability to turn everyone mute. No one talks, not even once they’re out. Except that gun shop guy. Your guy.” 

Thumbing the side of his tea cup, Tamashiro continued. “Which isn’t to say anyone around here has made much progress with him. Let’s just say, you’re not the first person to try to squeeze information out of Iwai. And you wouldn’t be the first person to fail either.” 

Dojima cursed under his breath. “I fucking knew it,” he grumbled. “I knew you guys were dumping this on an out-of-towner.” He felt so betrayed and vindicated at the same time. His head was spinning. 

“Don’t look at it like that.” Tamashiro’s phone vibrated with another message, but Tamashiro didn’t check it right away. (What an honor, Dojima thought irritably.) “It’s more like…you were the most obvious choice. The lowest risk. If you fail—which, let’s face it, you probably will—then the department can say it’s because you’re an incompetent country detective, not because we’re all a bunch of idiots. And the boss can ride you as hard as he needs to because he doesn’t know you from a hole in the wall. No risk there either. Catch my drift?”

Fuck all of the TMPD. Seriously. Fuck every single one of them. 

…But actually, Dojima got it. He understood. From a police perspective, it made sense. If the tables had been reversed, and some big city cop showed up in Inaba to help solve an uncrackable case, everyone would have pinned it on him. No question. That was just how police departments worked. 

Looked like Dojima had just hit it at the wrong time. Or maybe the right time. Maybe he’d been transferred just to get dumped on. He wouldn’t put it past them. Shit, he would barely put it past himself! 

He sucked his toothpick. He’d figured this all out already. He just wanted to hear it in words so that he didn’t have to rationalize everything and talk himself out of being crazy. He wasn’t crazy. This wild goose chase was a goddamn set up. 

Assholes.

“So.” Dojima flicked his toothpick into the garbage can by the front door as they headed out of the noodle joint. “Thanks, I guess. Just wondering why you’re actually admitting to all this.” 

Tamashiro shrugged. “Well you’ve clearly been busting your ass for this case. You’re up all hours monitoring that bug, aren’t you? I haven’t seen dedication like that in a long time.” 

…Right. Dedication. Yup, that’s what it was…

That remark was intended to be a compliment, but it made Dojima feel lower than any insect that ever crawled the earth. Dirt underneath someone’s feet. Bottom-level low. Shit. 

“Besides, I want to see progress in this case.” Tamashiro glanced at the sky. It looked like it might rain. The chances were good; they were edging on the rainy season after all. He opened his umbrella preemptively. “It’s been dragging on too long. And hell, who knows? Maybe you’ll be the one to crack it, Junes. Maybe you have what it takes. Maybe you’re a bonafide, goddamn fucking hero. Who am I to say otherwise!” 

Yeah, right. Crack it. The only thing Dojima was likely to crack at this rate was his own skull. And his sanity, which was probably already gone. If that made him a hero…

It sure as hell didn’t. 

Like clockwork, the skies opened. Rain poured down on the streets of Tokyo. People ran for cover under shop awnings and storefronts. Dojima glanced down pointlessly. He already knew he’d forgotten his damn umbrella. And there went Tamashiro, walking out into the middle of the storm as calm as the Buddha. Covered neatly by his huge, immaculate umbrella. Putting everyone else to shame. Seriously. 

“Hey, Tamashiro,” Dojima shouted over the rain. “Share some cover with a guy?” 

“Nope!” Tamashiro shouted back. Raising his middle finger pointedly in Dojima’s direction. “That’s the line, Junes. I’ll help you out on the case, but come on. We’re not fucking, alright?” 

“Yeah, no kidding…” Dojima crossed his arms over his chest. Put out and somewhat perplexed by Tamashiro’s whole deal. 

Damn right they weren’t fucking! Tamashiro was a scrawny, dickish, girly motherfucker. He wasn’t even Dojima’s type! 

…And yeah. Dojima guessed he had a type now when it came to guys. 

He subconsciously glanced in the direction of Iwai’s air soft shop. He wondered if Iwai was stuck in the rain just like him. Probably not; he was most likely holed up in that gloomy store of his. Like always. But Iwai in the rain…he imagined a soaked Iwai. Trench coat mysteriously missing, skintight black turtleneck clinging to him in all the right ways. Pants too. Slick and slippery. Baring it all for everyone to see, even Dojima…

Shit. That was hot. Dojima bit his lip and shook his head hard. He shouldn’t be thinking things like that during the day! Especially not in the middle of the street, where anyone might look over and see his little (not so little, hey) problem cropping up again. 

Why did thinking about Iwai have to get him hard like some kind of miracle drug? Jesus. All he did was think…

Iwai had abs for days, Dojima was sure. The guy was built. Dojima had abs once upon a time. Now he had…what was it called? Beer gut? No, nothing so terrible! He wasn’t fat or anything, he just…had a little flab where there used to be fab. A pouch in his slouch. A keg instead of a six pack. Or whatever (where was he getting all these phrases? Had to be those magazines rotting his brain. The ones he read in the car while he waited for Iwai to come home). But his chest was still pretty toned. His arms too. He was just a little fluffy in the middle.

He wondered if Iwai liked that in a man…probably not, if Atsushi was his type. That kid was thin like a rail, not built at all…

“Excuse me.” 

Someone pushed past Dojima abruptly on their way out of the noodle shop. Shoving him out in the rain. They opened their umbrella with a quiet _fwush,_ splashing rain water all over Dojima in the process. 

“Hey!” he called, but they were already down the block. What a jerk! Tokyo was full of unrepentant assholes! Chock full! 

To be fair, Dojima had been standing in the doorway to the shop for several minutes. Daydreaming about nonsense. They could have been asking him to move for a while and Dojima might not have heard. So…yeah, he guessed he had some of the blame there too.

And anyway, now he was already soaked. Nothing to do about it. Might as well head back. 

He’d prepare himself for the ribbing from the guys on the lonely, wet walk over. 

Like, hey. What happens when you soak gyoza in water? You get boiled country cabbage! 

Hilarious. Actually, that was pretty good. Dojima thought of that on his own. Maybe he should be the one to share it at the station before someone else beat him to the punch.

_____________________________________________

Having concrete evidence that he was doomed for failure made Dojima feel marginally better about things. None of his problems were solved, not in the slightest, but. There was something to be said for having your fate sealed before you even got started. A brutal, fruitful kind of nihilism. Dojima figured he could face this whole situation with the apathy of a man facing execution. He just needed to run out the clock on his own life. 

Wouldn’t be long now.

He stared down the front entrance to Iwai’s gun shop. It was Thursday. The date of their rendezvous. He readied himself for the inevitable: Iwai would tell him that Tsuda had nothing for him. Like Tamashiro said, none of the ex-Hashiba guys ever talked. So Iwai would give it to him bluntly, tell him Tsuda wasn’t owning up to anything, and Dojima would be on his way. 

He’d thank Iwai for his time. Keep his cool (he wasn’t about to blow up like last time!). Shake his hand, maybe. Then walk off into the sunset and out of the world. Head straight to Kawamori. Turn in his badge.

He’d probably be back in Inaba before the week was out. In a way, there was some relief in that. The only issue was Nanako. She’d be on her own again…Dojima needed to figure out how to care for her from across the country. Or worse, as an unemployed dad. 

That was the next natural step. 

Face it, Ryotaro. Like a man. For once.

Setting his jaw, Dojima walked into the airsoft shop. Iwai was behind the counter, unpacking a box of various merchandise. Laying it all on the counter and checking things off a list. Seemed like mundane shop-owner stuff. 

And luckily, the store was empty. 

That same feeling—the one like he’d just downed five cups of coffee at once, mixed with uppers and a slap to the face—came over Dojima again as he laid eyes on Iwai. His heart was racing and his skin prickled. Iwai’s hat was off. His bare head…he looked like a regular guy without the hat. 

Except for the tattoo on his neck. That fucking little lizard. Sitting comfortably underneath his jugular. Dojima wet his lips without thinking. He wanted…

…he wanted to bite that little lizard. Suck on it. Mark it with his teeth and his mouth. He wondered what tattooed skin tasted like; he’d certainly never made love to someone with tattoos before. Maybe you could taste the ink. Maybe it tasted bitter and thick. Like a mouthful of squid ink. Unique and addictive. 

He wondered if Iwai’s pulse would be quick under his tongue…

“Ah, there he is. Mr. Detective. Right on time, sir.” There was obvious derision on Iwai’s voice, and in his face, his eyebrows bouncing as he stopped working and stared at Dojima. So much sarcasm, but even so…

_Sir._

Dojima shifted his stance and walked uncomfortably up to the counter. In an effort to hide his sudden, inappropriate boner. That move unfortunately put them in closer proximity, but…Dojima couldn’t just stand there getting hard for no reason. 

This close, he could smell the body wash on Iwai again. It took all his willpower not to climb over the counter and shove his mouth against Iwai’s. That scent was becoming an aphrodisiac on its own. 

Dojima was too old for this shit. His body was starved. Aching for touch. It didn’t feel good on a man his age. It just hurt. 

He ducked his face out of Iwai’s line of sight. “So what do you have for me?” he asked. Better get this over with. Once it was over, he would be free. He didn’t have to listen anymore. He could put this all behind him. 

Iwai chuckled. Dojima knew the guy looked fucking beautiful when he smiled, so. He didn’t look at him. “Straight to the point, huh? Don’t want to rough up the place a little? I got some new merch if you want to take out some of that anger you got pent up in there…” 

Those words…too close to—

“Just!” Dojima clenched his jaw so tight it hurt. His hands balled into fists. “…Just. Tell me what your friend said.” 

Iwai sighed. “Speaking of new merch….” He was speaking far too loudly for the close proximity. “I got something in the back you might want to see. Come on.” 

Dojima glanced up in confusion. It hadn’t ever been on the table that he would go in the backroom with Iwai…what was this about? Was he about to be killed? Shot, stabbed? Were they about to have sex? Which one did Dojima want more?

(…Okay he didn’t actually have to ask that last question, but…really?) 

Still, Iwai was already walking away. Not sparing him a second glance, assuming that Dojima would follow. So he didn’t have a choice. 

Dojima skirted the counter and peered dubiously into the backroom. Iwai was standing with his back against the wall, arms crossed, beckoning Dojima closer.

Was he dreaming? Was this a dream? Any second now and Iwai was going to tell him that he wanted Dojima’s cock on his face and then Dojima would lose his whole damn mind—

“Come closer,” Iwai whispered. “I checked this whole place for bugs, but I’m still not sure. Never know who might be listening.” 

Oh. Right. Bugs. Well. Then. 

Dojima’s heart fluttered—yup, it fluttered, like a tiny little butterfly goddamn it—as he pressed as close to Iwai as he would allow himself. He swung his shoulder close to Iwai’s chest, leaning forward awkwardly to conceal the ever-growing problem between his legs. Especially now. When he could feel Iwai’s breath. The manly warmth of his presence, his scent filling Dojima’s nostrils. Chasing away everything else, all other thoughts, except the lewd ones. His skin was musky and wet from a sweaty, humid day. Dojima could fucking smell that too. He wanted to breathe deep, he shouldn’t, he should…

Dojima felt dizzy. Probably because the blood in his head was rushing to his cock. It was actually pretty hard for him to keep it together. Even slightly. 

“Anyway, I got something for you.” Iwai was whispering into his ear. Goosebumps broke over Dojima’s skin and he shivered. When Iwai spoke low in that register, it…did things to him. 

Could Iwai tell? Did he know…? 

He didn’t act like he knew. He kept talking. “Tsuda knows your guy Ichijo. Had a run-in with him a few months back. He told me all about an illegal shipment he was helping Ichijo with. One from the east, if you catch my drift. Tsuda went pretty far with it, then he got the feeling that the shipment might be people, so he bailed. But I wrote all the details down for you.” 

A burly hand came and rubbed against Dojima’s backside. Alright, to be more accurate, his ass. A strange, strangled noise escaped his mouth. He jerked forward without thinking. 

To his utter dismay, his hips crashed against Iwai’s. For a split second, his hard-on pressed into Iwai’s leg. 

Shame and bright fear lurched through Dojima. He leapt back, away, away, away—back into the main room. Staring at Iwai like he’d just been scandalized—which he had. 

He was ruined. Iwai must have felt—

But Iwai looked irritated more than anything. He grabbed Dojima by the collar and pulled him back. “Relax, man, I ain’t coppin’ a feel. I’m just giving you the deets.” 

Right. Right, of course. Of course Iwai wasn’t feeling him up, just putting something in his back pocket. Dojima squeezed his eyes closed, certain he was red in the face, and bit his tongue. Withstanding Iwai’s hand in that place was the worst kind of torture. He couldn’t breathe. If he let even one breath go, he’d be grabbing this guy by the skull and bending him in half. Fucking him against the wall like a filthy animal. Did Iwai know how close he was to getting fucked like that right now? He couldn’t! If he knew, he wouldn’t be taking his sweet time! Feeling up the thin line of Dojima’s crack…no, no, that couldn’t be true because Iwai was still talking about the clan.

“These guys aren’t fucking around, you know?” Iwai’s fingers slid against the meaty part of his Dojima’s ass. His thumb and forefinger shoved into the pocket. Dojima was frozen in time, his dick throbbing harder by the second—Iwai _had_ to see, didn’t he? Did he see? Was this…? “You’d better get your shit together before you take them on, okay? Don’t want to see you get hurt or nothing.” 

“I—…” The light in the backroom was dim. Dojima could barely see, could barely tell which way was up and which was down.“I’ll be…fine…” 

“Hnnh.” Iwai made a sound somewhere between a laugh and jeer. Then he was shoving Dojima back into the open, and stepping out behind the counter. Resuming his work unpacking the merchandise like nothing happened. 

Dojima stood there speechless. Had he just been assaulted? Or had he just assaulted someone else, by proxy? If Iwai hadn’t meant anything sexual then the onus was on Dojima for thinking that shit—and clearly Iwai hadn’t meant anything sexual because he was just standing there putting bullets on the counter. Not a care in the world. Fuck, even—was he _whistling_? Some merry tune? An enka song maybe?

“That’s all I got for you,” Iwai announced. Glancing at Dojima like he had six heads. “Unless you’re interested in buying some plastic bullets.” 

Hands sweaty and shaky, Dojima reached to his back pocket. He felt the piece of paper Iwai stashed there. It was crinkled with writing. Dojima spared it a look under cover of the backroom. Trying to pull himself together.

Oh shit. There was a _lot_ of information here! Exact dates and times. Places. Hell, even names!

“This is…” Dojima looked at Iwai in pure bewilderment. “…how did you?” 

“Glad you like the merch!” Iwai said loudly. Speaking to the theoretical bug, presumably. He mouthed at Dojima without a sound: _Leave now._

“Uh…yeah.” Dojima ran a hand through his hair. He shakily stuffed the note into his pocket and stumbled towards the door. “Um, thanks, you…uh, well. Thanks.” 

Iwai shook his head behind the counter. “You’re welcome,” he said. “Come back if you need more. Maybe something else, too. Ya hear?” 

Did he? Did Dojima hear him correctly? Unless he was mistaken it sounded like….no, but, he must be imagining things! Nothing about this situation felt right, but Dojima’s gut had gone completely soft! He couldn’t trust it anymore. His internal compass was reading in every direction and his head was a mess.

But Iwai was giving him a half smile. A look that screamed volumes. Something that the old Dojima would be able to recognize a hundred miles away. If a man had hit on him back in Inaba it would have been front page news. Everyone with a pulse would know the exact details by sunrise. Here in Tokyo, Dojima couldn’t even tell if his own eyes told the whole story. 

Iwai couldn’t be…could he? 

Dojima shouldn’t trust his instincts. His instincts were bad. They’d gotten him into this mess in the first place.

Sadness bubbled up in Dojima’s throat out of nowhere. Frowning, he left the shop without saying goodbye. He stumbled his way through the labyrinthine streets of Shibuya to his car.

That hadn’t gone at all like he’s expected. He had actual information. His search had suddenly borne fruit out of nowhere. He had something positive to bring Kawamori, new leads and…

And…

Iwai was something else. Something dangerous and scary and…oh fuck, could the guy get any hotter? He was so smooth! And he pressed all of Dojima’s buttons in exactly the right way. Dojima’s dick was hard enough to cut rocks at this point. 

He couldn’t expect to keep his head above water where Iwai was concerned. There was no keeping his cool, no coming out the better man. There was only…

….this.

Dojima gripped himself, fully ready to jerk one out before he headed back to the station, but…But. This time. This time he felt a little…sad. 

He was pathetic. Iwai was a cool guy and Dojima was a creep. Touching himself now—in broad daylight, _again_ —would only prove that fact even more. For once, Dojima flagged. He lost his wood and was instead filled with an overwhelming sense of dissatisfaction. Like he’d been denied. 

“Tsk.” Frustrated, angry and suddenly near tears, Dojima turned on his car. 

He was a mess. But he was a big boy. He could handle it. Sniffing hard, he stuffed everything down and made his way back to the station. 

He could at least be presentable when he announced victory to the team.

_______________________________________

 

Dojima had never seen Kawamori so happy. His unlit cigarette fell from his lips and he didn’t even reach for another one. He just stared at the note Dojima brought him with elation written in all the premature wrinkles on his face. 

“This is…incredible, Dojima-san!” Kawamori laughed—an eerie bark that was missing a smile—and clapped Dojima on the back. “This gives us at least ten new leads! How the hell did you get this?!”

With all the commotion happening in the captain’s office, Tamashiro, Higashi, and Yoichi poked their heads in. On cue.

Overjoyed—in a scary way, eyes wide and bony arms flailing—Kawamori showed them all the note. “Did you guys know about this? We’ve hit the jackpot!” 

Higashi and Yoichi read the note and exchanged glances. All at once, they turned to Dojima and showered him with praise. Punching him in the arm, slapping him on the back. Running their mouths like they had supported him all along. 

“Great job, Dojima-san!” (He hadn’t known they actually knew his real name. They always just called him Junes.)

“You really know what you’re doing, huh!” 

“I bet this took forever to get, but it was worth it! Can’t wait to tell the feds!”

“Oh those boys will be crying into their cups tonight when they see what we got!” (We?)

Tamashiro looked at the note last. A smirk curled over his lips and he shrugged, “Well, damn,” he said. “Fuck me, Junes. Great job.” 

Out of all the praise he was getting in the past ten seconds, (none of which he’d been prepared for), Dojima actually valued Tamashiro’s. A tiny pinprick of sunshine spread through his gloom. He smirked back at Tamashiro and said what came naturally to him, “Yeah, you’re right. Fuck you.”

Everyone went quiet for a moment. Tamashiro’s smirk broadened into a smile. He nodded. He regarded Dojima with a look like they were equals.

It was the best feeling Dojima had gotten from his job since he’d moved to Tokyo. That look meant the world to him in that moment. He stood up a little straighter. 

Higashi and Yoichi tried to join in with a laugh, but it wasn’t natural. Dojima honestly didn’t care about them. He turned instead to his boss and said, “What now, captain?” Like he’d practiced that line or something. 

Kawamori was already on the phone with the feds. They stood by silently waiting to hear the verdict. By the end of the call, it was clear that the feds were moving forward with their investigation using the information from Iwai. 

“Well, they’re pissed,” Kawamori announced as he hung up the phone. “But that’s mostly because we got the lead first. I think overall they’re pretty relieved. Any longer than this without new info and we would all be in hot water.”

“So what’s their move?” Higashi asked breathlessly. 

“They’re going to set up a stakeout of the docks mentioned in the note. And some of those names ring a few bells on their end. Looks like some people are getting a home visit no one wants to get tonight.” 

Kawamori dug for another cigarette. He regarded Dojima with a look of pride. “Great work out there, Dojima-san. Why don’t you take the rest of the day, eh? Doesn’t your kid have…what, that thing? Tomorrow or something?”

Dojima’s mind swam in the depths of information overload he’d been served. Nanako? Had…a thing? What, did he mean the science—

Oh…shit. Of course. The science thing. Dojima had forgotten he told Kawamori about that—which he’d done because he’d wanted to ask for a little time off. Days ago when he first found out. But honestly, he hadn’t even thought about it since then because he legitimately thought he’d be out of a job by then. He’d imagined himself packing his bags for Inaba, telling Nanako only once everything was done the reason why he hadn’t shown up for the science festival: Because he couldn’t bear to face her in his shame.

Now…

Now it looked like that reality had been narrowly averted. Instead, his boss was heaping praise onto him for the first time and saying things like, “You know what, why don’t you take the whole day tomorrow? You deserve it, huh. Tell your kid you’re a great detective and that we’re all proud of her.” 

“I, uh…” Dojima was almost afraid to accept the offer. He didn’t know what would come with it. (Like namely, having to go to his kid’s thing and dealing with…that whole mess he’d completely forgotten about.) “…thank you, sir.”

How could he turn it down? Of course he had to go! Especially now that he’d be staying in Tokyo for a while. He had no excuse! Not to mention, Nanako really ought to have someone there supporting her. Even if it was just her delinquent father who had committed unspeakable acts regarding the father of her mentor…

….he should have told Iwai. He should have fucking told him about their kids when he saw him earlier. But he hadn’t. Because he was too busy being caught up in his own perverted nonsense to remember that this was a thing they both needed to deal with…

Dojima had dodged the executioner’s axe, but he hadn’t gone unscathed. That axe took off his ear and now he was stumbling, bleeding, looking like an idiot. Fate always found a way to exact its pound of flesh.

______________________________________________

 

Nanako’s school made the inexplicable decision to have the science festival outside. Despite the reports about the incoming rain. Dojima didn’t want to know the specifics about why. He assumed it was something to do with tradition and all that.

He wanted to know as little about this whole thing as physically possible. This way, when it all inevitably came crashing down around him, he could say he had no idea. That was much better than the truth: That he’d known for a while, he’d just forgotten because he was that much of a perverted fuck up. 

Nanako was ecstatic. That was the good thing about today, impending doom be damned. She was wearing her hair up and she looked all professional and way too old for her age. She even had a little make-up on—where the hell had she gotten that? From the store, probably? Since when did Nanako go out and buy make-up? Dojima hadn’t approved that, if he remembered correctly….

…But Nanako was growing up. He certainly couldn’t stop her from buying make-up. At least this was tasteful. Appropriate. If there was ever a time for her to look her best, this was it. 

He was proud of her. She looked radiant. There was something special about her. Always had been. A little spark. Intelligence and grace, a touch of something beyond her years and experience. Just like her mother. Dojima remembered it all too well. It’s what had attracted him to her when they first met. Nanako’s mother was a swan among chickens, that’s what he’d thought at the time. She was worlds above anyone else they knew growing up in Inaba. He’d gone for her even though he knew she was out of his league. When she said yes to going out with him…he thought he was the luckiest man alive.

He still counted his lucky stars that she’d been in his life. Even after everything terrible that happened. Dojima knew to be grateful that he’d had time with her at all. 

Even though…

Well, yeah. Even though it made times like this hard. Moments when it was clear that Nanako was her mother’s daughter, even though she’d hardly known her. When her mother’s absence felt bigger and more noticeable than her presence had been. When Nanako had to introduce her single father as her sole parent. When she had to learn how to be a woman without guidance from a mom. When she grew and became successful even without her. Those were the times when Dojima felt the loss of her the most. 

Today was going to be fucking hard.

He tried to look his best. He even shaved. Showered, combed his hair while it was still wet so it would hold its place. Wore a suit jacket over his usual grey shirt and red tie. He was trying really hard to be what Nanako needed today and forget everything else. Put all his feelings on hold—or better yet, forget them altogether—so that she could just show up for Nanako. Like she deserved. 

“Ready, kiddo?” He asked, trying to ignore the pain welling up in his eyes when he looked at her (she looked so much like her…it hurt). If he smiled, Nanako would just see the smile. Not the pain. He hoped. 

“Yup!” Nanako gathered her things and they endured a quiet drive over to the school. 

Dojima didn’t know what to say in times like this. He wanted to tell Nanako how proud her mother would have been, how proud he was, how much he wanted her to enjoy today. But he wasn’t good at shit like that. He could only hope that his presence—the fact that he took a day off _work_ —spoke for itself.

Nanako didn’t seem dissuaded by silence. He loved that about her too. 

When they arrived, Nanako hopped out of the car and scrambled to her project. She held her head up high and explained all the ins and outs to Dojima—who didn’t understand a word. As people walked by, people in the same uniform as her and a few people in high school attire, Nanako greeted them familiarly. She seemed to know almost everyone. The teachers walking by all commented favorably. Nanako tugged Dojima by the elbow and introduced him to all of them.

“So this talented young lady belongs to you, eh?” A young male teacher chirped, bowing shallowly to Dojima. “Congratulations!”

Dojima didn’t like the cut of his jib. “That’s right,” he barked. “I’m a detective with the Tokyo police department.” 

“Oh…” the teacher seemed slightly taken aback. “Well, how exciting! Please, come meet my wife and child…”

Yeah, that’s right, Dojima thought. Don’t get any ideas, pal.

When they had a moment alone, Nanako spoke to Dojima in hushed tones, “Dad, can you chill? You’re coming on a little strong.” 

Dojima bristled defensively. “Calling it like I see it, kid. Someone’s got to have an eye out for you.” 

Nanako glanced around the festival nervously. She waved to a friend and continued speaking in whispers, “I know but you can relax. Everyone’s nice here, okay?” 

Sure, everyone was nice until something happened….but Dojima didn’t say that. He was probably being paranoid. Not only that, his mood was dark. He wouldn’t try to deny that and say Nanako was making things up. She wasn’t. Dojima wasn’t exactly…fitting in with this crowd. They weren’t his people, academics and the like. Besides, they all seemed to know his daughter better than he did! He took issue with that. Even though it was no one’s fault but his own…knowing that just pissed him off even more. 

And then. There. All of a sudden—but not exactly out of nowhere.

A scrawny kid with glasses, ungainly and tall with jet black hair, waved to Nanako. Dojima recognized him and the man behind him. He would have recognized them in his sleep. Dojima was somewhat ready. He had known to expect this, but he hadn’t known…

…he hadn’t anticipated the relief he would feel seeing Iwai here. The man looked just as miserable as Dojima! Out of place like a sore thumb! He was wearing a beaten-up brown suit jacket and black shirt (no tie), without his hat for once, but he still looked gangster. You couldn’t take the yakuza out of a guy like that. It was written all over his face, his expression. His eyes told the whole story. 

Dojima almost laughed.

His heart thumped in a way it had no business doing. Christ, heart, he thought. Give it a rest already! He hurriedly wiped away the smile from his face. How dare he smile at a time like this, when everything was about to go haywire…

“Kaoru-kun!” Nanako called. She grabbed Dojima by the hand and practically teleported over to greet them. 

“Nanako-chan!” Kaoru waved excitedly. He pushed his father forward, presenting him in exactly the same way Nanako was presenting Dojima. Brandishing their fathers as if they were some precious, strange type of business card. 

Nanako and Kaoru stepped all over each other’s words introducing them. 

“This is my dad—”

When they realized they were talking over each other in a weird echo, they both stopped and laughed. Dojima gathered what courage he could and looked Iwai in the eye.

Iwai didn’t wear surprise well. His face had gone slack. A mix of anger and pure shock burned in his eyes. He looked halfway ready to punch Dojima in the face and halfway ready to gather Kaoru in his arms and run for the hills. 

(Shit. How did Iwai manage to make even that look cute? It wasn’t fucking fair.)

Dojima bowed and held his gaze. Greeting him the proper way. “Nice to meet you. I’m Dojima Ryotaro, Nanako’s father. Nanako talks a lot about Kaoru. Thanks for helping her with her studies, Kaoru-kun.” 

“Oh, no, it’s no problem! Honestly, sometimes Nanako-chan is the one helping me!” Kaoru laughed nervously but sincerely. He glanced worriedly at his father. “Dad…” he whispered in desperation, elbowing Iwai. Prompting him to return Dojima’s greeting.

Iwai startled out of his look of hatred. He glanced between Kaoru and Nanako, then back to Dojima. “Uh…right. Um…Iwai Munehisa. I’m Kaoru’s dad. Nicetameetcha.” 

Nanako bowed again twice, ultra polite. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Iwai-san! Thank you for the fruit plate. It was really yummy!” 

Fruit plate? Dojima frowned. Iwai had somehow made food for his kid without him even knowing? That…well, actually, with the way this was going, it sounded about right. …But why fruit of all things? Dojima couldn’t begin to suss it all out.

“Nanako-chan, come over here to the high schoolers projects. I want to introduce you to sensei!” Kaoru led Nanako—and by extension Iwai and Dojima, who awkwardly followed behind them, unsure what they should be doing—to his project. For a while there was nothing but introductions as Kaoru went down the line of all his teachers. Introducing everyone to everyone else.

It was all awkward and confusing. Dojima and Iwai both hung back a little as it started to drag on. 

When there was enough commotion that they wouldn’t be noticed, Iwai turned to Dojima and asked, “You knew about this?”

“Uh…yeah, kind of. Not really.” Dojima shook his head. “Nanako threw it at me a few days ago and I didn’t have time to…you know. Process it or whatever.” 

“Heh.” Iwai pulled out a lollipop from his suit jacket. “Well you got one up on me. You’re the last person I expected to see. Thought you were here to arrest me or something when I saw you.” 

Dojima chuckled dryly. “Nope. No arrest. I’m just here for Nanako and…this. Whole thing.” He gestured to the festival generally. “Whatever this is.” 

A smile broke out across Iwai’s face. “I know, right? Science and junk. They lost me a million miles ago. Now I’m over here eating their dust.” 

“I just smile and nod. Throw out an ‘oh that’s interesting’ every once in a while. Seems to work.” 

“Tch.” Iwai rounded on Dojima. “You call that a smile, detective?” 

Once again, Dojima was at a loss for words. Iwai was adapting to this situation so quickly—already he was cracking jokes! And throwing out that line… ‘detective.’ An echo of the vague pain that was the feelings Dojima had for Iwai rippled across his body. He’d thought he’d decided to let it go. To move on from the whole thing. Since his head had gotten so completely mixed up Dojima didn’t know if he could trust himself with anything again. 

But here it was. All those feelings. The memories of the things Dojima had heard over the wiretap. The things he’d fantasized about. They were all here, just because of that one word: _Detective_.

Lust and pain were too similar. Dojima didn’t know how to handle either.

Oblivious to the world of hurt going on inside Dojima, Iwai stared forlornly at his lollipop. “Eh,” he sighed. “I could go for something stronger. Want to head over there for a cig?” 

Dojima hadn’t smoked in years. Not since Nanako was old enough to ask him to stop, around the time she got the anti-tobacco talk in elementary school. Besides, he couldn’t duck out when…although, a glance in their direction showed Nanako and Kaoru in the weeds with a bunch of middle schoolers explaining their projects. 

They wouldn’t be missed. Not for another ten minutes anyway.

“Sure,” Dojima said. What the hell, right? Might pass the time.

Smoking was allowed by the entrance only. So they walked back to front gates. Iwai sat on the school steps like a delinquent—probably a familiar scene, it looked too natural to be the first time—and lit up. He gave one to Dojima and held out his lighter. Dojima thought he would pass the lighter to him, but instead he just held it. Beckoning Dojima to lean in for the inhale that would spark the tip.

Shit, Dojima thought, as he inhaled and caught Iwai’s solemn but playful stare. He felt like he was back in high school. Smoking behind the lockers.

Except there was about forty years worth of living done between then and now. Dojima smoked and it felt like heaven. Way better than it had when he was a teenager. He smoked that cigarette hard, almost burning it out in one drag. It had been a while. And it tasted so good in his lungs! 

Iwai didn’t comment. Just smoked silently and stared at the Ginza train line rattling in the distance. He looked like some weird amalgamation of a kid and an adult. Awkward in his suit, with a hastily drawn tattoo on his neck. Smoking on the school steps. 

Even so, he looked sexy as hell. Dojima was starting to think that Iwai could pull off any look. He might hate him for that. 

“What?” Iwai said after a while, noticing his stare. “What are you looking at?” 

“Oh, nothing.” Dojima shuffled his feet and looked at the train too. That vibrant yellow train. 

He had so much he wanted to say to Iwai. But he just wasn’t good at talking. Everything he thought to say sounded weird and stilted in his head. Too dramatic or too awkward. How did people have conversations? Dojima didn’t know. 

But, with everything they’d been through the past few months (wiretapping included), Dojima thought he owed Iwai an attempt. So he started, “That information you gave me yesterday was pretty useful.”

“I know,” Iwai replied. His grey eyes looked sadder when they weren’t covered by the brim of his hat. “I told you. Tsuda didn’t hold back.” 

“Yeah. Thanks, though.” Was that enough? Did it explain how Iwai had saved Dojima’s career? “I mean, you know. It helped me out. So thanks.” 

Iwai looked almost startled. He threw a weird look in Dojima’s direction. “Uh, well…I hope that, you know. You get to save people with that information and stuff.” He smoked thoughtfully. “But like I said, these Hashiba clowns aren’t fucking around. You need to take them on with lots of manpower and firepower. Got it?” 

“Yeah, I hear you. But actually it’s really the feds that take them on in the end. I’m just a lackey.” Dojima shrugged. It was painfully true.

“Oh.” Iwai frowned again. 

It took a few minutes for him to give words to what was building on his face. Dojima was glad when he did. “You’re…you’re really not like the other cops I’ve met before. You know that?” 

“How so?” Dojima sat on the steps next to Iwai. He felt a blistering need to hear him out all of a sudden. Why, he couldn’t say. Maybe because…because they felt like two kindred souls here. In this place. Maybe before, too. They seemed to get each other.

He could feel it. An understanding between them. It was the first understanding Dojima had gotten with anyone in Tokyo that he could put his finger on and say, ‘yeah this makes sense to me.’ He and Iwai were similar in a lot of ways. And Dojima genuinely liked him. Cared about his opinion. That was more than he could say of anyone else too. 

It felt good to have a friend in this hellish city. Too good. Painfully good, if he was telling the truth. 

Not that they were friends or anything….

“You’re really honest,” Iwai said. “You don’t go in for bullshit. You act like you care about your job and I think you really do. You’re not just throwing your weight around. You seem to genuinely want to help people. That’s more than I can say for a lot of the cops I’ve known in my day.” 

“Um…thanks, I think.” Dojima wasn’t sure that was a compliment or a dig at the shitty police Iwai had known. Most of the cops Dojima knew were good people. They just had biases about yakuza. Since Iwai was the first yakuza Dojima had ever met, he didn’t know enough to have any kind of bias.

Iwai was just Iwai. 

Unfortunately, Dojima in real life wasn’t anything like what Iwai described. He wasn’t honest. He’d been deceiving Iwai from the beginning. Infringing on his privacy. Taking advantage. In ways Iwai didn’t even know yet. 

He could barely even call himself a cop. With the terrible things he’d done and thought about…

“Oh, shit.” Iwai said it first. It took Dojima a few more minutes to realize what was happening.

Such it was in the rainy season, sudden storms came on fast. Literally like lightning. A few drops became a torrent in seconds. And that’s what happened—suddenly it was a downpour and Iwai and Dojima were caught in the middle.

“Damn, head for the school!” Dojima yelled over the rain. 

Iwai—whether he heard or not—grabbed Dojima by the arm and dragged him over to the middle school building. The first few doors they tried were locked, which meant they got soaked to their skin just trying to find shelter. Finally they found a service entrance with a door propped open with a brick. Lucky! They scrambled into the school—which was already dark. Only some of the lights were on, since it was evening already. And the festival was happening quite a distance away. 

Dripping and miserable, Iwai and Dojima stood in the hallway of the middle school and unintentionally copied each other’s actions. They reached for their phones and tried to get in touch with their kids. Iwai’s phone—a cheap one—was already fried because of the rain. Wouldn’t turn on. Dojima managed a quick call to Nanako.

“Dad, you okay?” she said on the line. “We moved to the auditorium a while ago when the skies got dark. Where did you?” 

“Uh…I was by the entrance…” Dojima said vaguely. He glanced at Iwai. “Is Kaoru with you?”

“Yeah we’re all here. We didn’t get caught in it, did you?” 

Iwai nodded in thanks, hearing Nanako’s voice over the phone. Dojima sighed. Relieved that at least their kids were dry. “Uh, yeah, but…it’s not…that bad.” What a terrible lie!

“Okay. Just come to the auditorium, okay? Follow the signs.”

“Auditorium. Got it.” Dojima hung up the phone.

His mind wasn’t working properly. Mostly because Iwai had taken his suit jacket to wipe his face, baring his skintight black shirt. And the muscles underneath.

Fuck, Dojima had been right! Iwai was ripped! He hadn’t even given the guy enough credit! He was working on an eight pack under there…shit! Even his thighs were ripped. But not in a steroid-y type of way. More like, his body was built to be strong. To carry the weight of itself, of the life Iwai led. And that made it bulky enough…more than the average man. Maybe Iwai didn’t even go to the gym. That might have just been the way he was made.

Dojima was staring hard. And, he noticed, so was Iwai. 

Their eyes met and it felt like the world was sinking. Down, down. To a place where this made sense. Which couldn’t be reality because in reality there was nothing logical about the looks they were giving each other.

“We should…” Dojima began. 

But then Iwai was grabbing his wrist. And then…

Iwai’s mouth was warm. His body too, despite being slippery. They grabbed each other hard and their mouths clashed. It was sudden and desperate. Dojima didn’t know who started it or how. But they were kissing and Iwai tasted like cigarettes, vaguely like candy, and a lot like a man. A human being. With lips, a tongue, and warm body. Arms wrapped around Dojima. A meaty leg between his own, finding his hard-on in no time. As if dragged to it by a magnet. 

Dojima groaned pitifully when Iwai ground his leg against him. He was seeing stars. There was a telltale push behind his eyes that told him he was getting way too into this. Way too fast. 

But Iwai’s smell was everywhere. All over him. His hands knew just what to do; they grabbed Dojima’s face and forced him to kiss Iwai over and over. Hard. Just the way Dojima liked. A way he’d imagined men kissed, and he wasn’t disappointed. Before he could stop himself, Dojima’s own hands were all over Iwai. Touching his chest his abs, feeling under his shirt. Wrapping around his pecs as if he expected to find tits there. He didn’t, of course, but he found two pert nipples. That turned him on to no end. A part of Iwai’s body that was soft and womanly…when Dojima pinched those nipples Iwai grunted in the back of his neck.

Fuck, yes. Dojima wanted to hear that again. He pinched Iwai again and rubbed his cock into his leg. He was losing control. All the pain he’d been gathering these past few months…it was all rising to the surface of his skin. And Iwai was teasing it away with his sexy hands and body. Kissing it and kneading it until it evaporated.

Dojima wanted Iwai so bad. 

He didn’t want to feel that pain anymore. He wanted to just…he fucking wanted to—it was wrong, they were tangled up in work nonsense together, they were in a school, their kids were just over there, but—

“Shit, you’re hot.” 

Wait, was that him?

No. That was Iwai.

“You’re so fucking hot right now.” Iwai reached down and grabbed a handful of Dojima’s cock. “That’s all you, right?” 

Dojima buried his face in Iwai’s neck. He wasn’t going to last if Iwai grabbed him like that. He just wasn’t. 

“Damn, man, how’d that happen?” Iwai chuckled and groped him over his pants. 

Dojima’s body was on pins and needles, desperate to cum (he hadn’t jerked off in days, feeling like a lowlife). Every time Iwai gripped his cock, Dojima worried that he might fire prematurely. It was all too fast and too rough and way too good—

“Stop, wait…” Dojima needed to slow this down. He was older than Iwai, damn it, he should be the one leading! “Give me a second…we can’t do this here….anyone could come…” 

“Heh.” Iwai kissed him on the lips, erasing everything from Dojima’s mind. “Yeah I guess anyone could come. So why shouldn’t you?” 

Before Dojima could stop him, Iwai was on his knees pulling apart Dojima’s belt. It was surreal and way too much like one of his fantasies. His mind was leaving him. The risks and the dangers were melting away, especially once Iwai fished Dojima’s cock out into the open air. 

“Fuck, look at you…” Iwai whistled lowly. “I figured you were hard up for it, but damn…” He ran his thumb down the underside of Dojima’s cock. Dojima’s eyes crossed and his knees threatened to give out. Just from that. 

He hadn’t been touched by hands other than his own in…

God, he didn’t know. He didn’t know, alright? All he knew was that Iwai was licking his lips in the vicinity of his dick, and Dojima was already leaking. 

“H-hold on…!” he stammered, holding Iwai back by the forehead. “If you…do that…I’ll…” 

Iwai sneered at him. He looked impatient. “Yeah? What’s gonna happen? You gonna burst into flames or something, Mr. Detective?” 

“No, I…” Dojima could feel Iwai’s breath on his cock and it was driving him insane. He dug his fingers into Iwai’s head. On the verge of losing it. “I won’t be able to…hold back…” 

“Tch.” Iwai shook his head. He grabbed one of Dojima’s hand and laced their fingers together. Giving him a hand to hold. It was the most beautiful act of mercy Dojima had ever experienced in his life—and it was coming from a yakuza. “Alright then. Do your worst, sir.” 

With that, he licked a long stripe up Dojima’s shaft. His tongue was hot and flat and wide. The _perfect_ fucking thing. Dojima’s head fell back and he moaned into the dark hallway. It echoed against the walls. 

Self-conscious (and legitimately worried they would be found), Dojima clapped his free hand against his mouth. With his other hand held firmly in Iwai’s grip, he had no way of controlling how fast or how slow Iwai went. 

He was at his mercy. Completely. 

He couldn’t even beg if he wanted to. He was too busy trying to keep quiet.

Thank fuck Iwai knew exactly what to do. He wrapped his lips around the head of Dojima’s dick and gently sucked. When Dojima got used to that, he took him in farther. Deeper into his mouth. His tongue roaming all over the tip, sliding against Dojima in the way that only an expert could do. Giving him the kind of treatment Dojima had only ever imagined—never had he met someone this devoted to giving head.

It wasn’t fair that he had to meet Iwai now. When he was at his most sensitive, his most vulnerable. When he wouldn’t have been able to stave off his orgasm if Iwai was just stroking him with thumbs. Now, of all times, Dojima had to meet the mouth that was made especially for him. The mouth that would be his undoing, any time of day, any day of the week. 

His hips snapped forward into Iwai’s mouth, once, twice—

And he was cumming. _Hard._ Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as he was consumed by an orgasm that washed away anything that wasn’t pleasure. Anger, guilt, shame, sadness. Iwai fucked all that out of Dojima with his mouth. Dojima rode it out and chased every last sensation, unable to do anything else. It was so good—it was the thing he’d been dying to have, and now that he had it, it was way too much.

Before he knew it, his moans had turned into sobs. He was gripping his face so hard it hurt, biting his fingers as he withstood the aftershocks of that climax. 

“Wow, you came a lot,” Iwai reported. Wiping his mouth. “Not bad, Mr.—oh shit, are you okay?” 

Dojima couldn’t look at him. He turned his face away and sobbed into his elbow. He couldn’t. That blowjob…it took everything out of him and left parts that Dojima hadn’t looked at in so long…a rawness. Something that was eating him from the inside. Now it felt slightly satiated, and Dojima didn’t know what to do with that feeling either.

He was crying like a fucking little girl. But he couldn’t help it. That’s how his body had chosen to handle that blowjob. At the very least, Iwai didn’t have to look at him while he waited this out…

But Iwai looked. He looked, and he grabbed Dojima’s face, pulling it out into the open. He kissed Dojima’s tears and then his lips, forcing him into a strong hug. The kind of hug Dojima used to have as a kid. Something he’d forgotten existed until this moment. A full body hug. 

Dojima hugged him back and cried for a little while longer. 

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re fine, yeah? You’re fine, come on.” Iwai held Dojima together with his sturdy arms. 

As the tears slowed, Dojima realized what an ass he’d made of himself. He didn’t want this moment to end—one because it felt really nice, and two because he would have to face Iwai like a man once he was done crying. Shit, that was embarrassing.

But. Oh well. He’d just come in buckets from a one-minute blowjob. Iwai had to figure Dojima was going through some things. 

“Damn, sorry,” Dojima thumbed his eyes and turned away from Iwai’s embrace. “That, uh…wow. That was a lot.” 

“Don’t apologize…” Iwai scratched his head. “I should be apologizin’. Was that too much?” 

Yes, yes it had been! But Dojima couldn’t say that. “No, no it was…” Well, no sense hiding it now! “Fuck, that was really fucking good, man.” He took a deep breath. “No one’s done that for me in…about ten years.” Numbers were easier now that Dojima had come.

Horror ran across Iwai’s face. “Ten _years_? Are you serious?”

“Yep. At least.” Dojima fixed his pants, amazed that they hadn’t been discovered. Anxious to keep it that way.

“That’s crazy. You…” Iwai sighed. “You really shouldn’t hold out like that, you know? It’s not good for a guy to swear off getting his dick sucked. It fucks with your head after a while.” 

“I didn’t swear off, I just…” Dojima didn’t know how to explain. There wasn’t really a reason why. He just hadn’t gone a date since his wife died. Because life wasn’t as easy as it should be. That’s why. 

Even so, Iwai looked beautiful in this light. Rain soaked and all, just after sucking a guy within an inch of his life. Iwai was beautiful. 

Dojima pulled him in for another kiss. Damn, this man…this man and the things he did to Dojima. How could he fight this? There was no way! Iwai was just…well, he…

Piercing the mood, Dojima’s phone rang. It was Nanako. 

“Yeah?” He pulled himself together as if he were on a video call. Afraid that Nanako could somehow see him through the phone. 

“Dad, you okay? They’re doing closing ceremonies. Where are you? And have you seen Iwai-san anywhere? Kaoru can’t find him either!”

“Yeah, I’m okay, it’s fine, Nanako. We just…” Dojima looked to Iwai for help. Iwai shrugged his shoulders uselessly. Rolling his eyes, Dojima said, “We just got a little lost. But we’re on our way to the auditorium now.”

“Alright. Hurry up, okay? I don’t want you to miss this!” 

“Right, sure.” 

Iwai grinned at him. “Nice cover. I don’t know how to follow signs either.”

Dojima grunted in irritation, swatting him on the shoulder. “Yeah well, thanks for all the help. Look, let’s…” he sighed. “Let’s not mention anything to the kids about….this. Yet.” When he said ‘this’ he gestured between the two of them.

“Uh-huh. What is ‘this?’” Iwai asked. He mimicked the gesture.

“I don’t know, alright? I just don’t want to explain to my kid that I’ve been screwing around with someone I know from work who’s also her friend’s father—”

“Relax, Detective, I’m fucking with you.” Iwai laughed shortly. “The kids definitely don't need to know about this. And I mean, you’re the guy that hasn’t had his dick sucked in ten years. Can’t expect you to know what the hell’s going on between you and me.” 

Even though that was a shitty thing to say, Dojima agreed! “Exactly. So. Let’s just…you know.” 

“Right.” 

They walked to the auditorium together. Before they passed through the door, Iwai grabbed Dojima’s hand and squeezed it. It was a foolish thing to do, sentimental and needless, but Dojima squeezed back. He knew he should have felt like a little kid—hooking up in middle school and then holding hands. But he didn’t. He felt like himself. Worn down from so many years of tedious living. Hard on his luck. Barely surviving. So many years of that and now…a quick hand-squeeze before meeting his kid and acting like nothing had happened.

It meant so much to him. 

______________________________

 

In the car on the way home, Nanako chatted about how excited she was for high school. It was only two years away and she couldn’t wait! She already had so many friends.

Dojima was happy for her. He told her not to wish her life away, but Nanako seemed not to hear him. She was already talking about what classes she wanted to take. 

Dojima’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen in surprise.

It was Iwai.

**Iwai:** _Hey! Kaoru got my phone working again. Works like a charm! Thanks for giving me your number._

Dojima sucked his teeth. Okay. That happened faster than he thought it would. Writing his number down on a piece of paper and sticking it in Iwai’s pants (payback for what Iwai had done to him in the gun shop) was a bold move. Dojima was proud of it. But he hadn’t actually been ready for…communication. 

Oh well. He couldn’t text back because he was driving. 

**Iwai:** _You should hit me up sometime when the kids are busy. Not for police stuff, I mean._

A few minutes later, another text.

**Iwai:** _I figure if it’s been ten years since you had your dick sucked, it’s probably been that long since you did lots of things. Am I right?_

He wasn’t wrong. In fact he was dead on. 

**Iwai:** _We gotta fix that. You hear me?_

Dojima bit his lip as he read that text. Fuck yes, he wanted that. He wanted Iwai to do all those things to him. All the things he did with Atsushi—

Oh, damn. Atsushi. What about him? Wasn’t Iwai already in a relationship with him? And…

Well, and…when was Dojima going to tell Iwai that he knew about Atsushi? Or, more accurately, _how_ he knew about Atsushi?

That executioner’s axe. Swinging all over the place. Dojima didn’t know what the hell it was going to cut off next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the last one! Hopefully it's done soon! (At least relatively sooner than this one lol.)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, guys! And for sticking with this story if you're still following it!! Your dedication to these dads is heartwarming. They need so much love, guys.


	4. He learns to live with messes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life doesn't exist between book ends. Or something like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Woo! ^__^ 
> 
> Ahhh this story. I have so many feelings about this one, guys. So so many. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The way Dojima saw it, he had two ways of handling this problem. The first way was the most obvious: He could lie about it for the rest of his life. There was no reason why Iwai—his new sort of…boyfriend, maybe? Is that what you called the person who sucked you off at your kids’ science fair, held your hand, then told you they wanted to fuck you? Was that a boyfriend?—had to know the truth of what Dojima had done. The wiretapping, the illegal listening. No reason at all. Dojima had already handed all the devices back over to the police (no need for them anymore). The evidence was gone.

He’d gotten away clean with his crimes. Scot-free. No one on the force knew about the weird sex stuff, Iwai was none-the-wiser, and Dojima’s responsibility was finished. He could finally, _finally_ move on!

And now somehow, through a random twist of fate, Iwai was into him! They had a…thing. God help him, Dojima liked that thing. He’d had the time of his life getting sucked off by Iwai, however wrong it was, and he wanted to do it again. He wanted to go over Iwai’s place and do more things. He wanted to kiss Iwai again and hold his hand…those worn, manly hands that knew how to do all kinds of things… He wanted to see Iwai naked and have him. Like, actually have him. No more fooling around. 

Dojima wanted it so bad it made his heart hurt. Every time he looked at his hands, he imagined Iwai holding them. He needed to clench his fists to keep himself from losing it. Iwai had basically ruined him. Dojima could hardly think about anything else. The rest of life had become background noise, and now his main goal (a surprisingly, terrifyingly achievable one at that) was getting Iwai into the sack. He could it. He _would_!

Needless to say, telling Iwai the truth would probably ruin his chances with him. Irreparably. Forever. What kind of guy wouldn’t be pissed to hell knowing that they’d been spied on? In their most intimate, private moments, by the police? A perverted, disgusting cop. Just a loser. 

Dojima knew if the shoe were on the other foot he’d be beside himself. If someone had been listening to him? Or him and his _wife_? Forget it. Dojima might have actually killed a man. He could see it going down like that. 

Iwai was probably the same. 

So. Because Dojima wanted to sleep with Iwai and not get into some kind of life threatening revenge battle, the natural thing to do would be to lie. Lie his ass off. Take it to the grave. Tell no one. Not even his maker on the day he passed into oblivion. 

Lying wasn’t so hard. It was easy! Anyone could it, and they should! What good came from bearing your soul and losing the best thing you’d had in your life in the past ten years, the one person who made you feel like you were living a real life instead of the leavings of a ruined man?

Because as much as he wanted to pretend that Iwai was a relief from the monotony and darkness of Tokyo, that…wasn’t the whole truth. It took him a few days to come to terms with that. But, he was there now. Dojima had been in the dark for a long time. Without ever fully acknowledging it. The pain in his skin and in his heart had been lingering around ever since his wife died, and he’d just never dealt with it. Which is why it had taken him by such surprise when Iwai sucked him off like that—it was actual, real pleasure for the first time in…so long.

Dojima honestly thought he might do anything not to lose that again. 

Which is why, he needed to lie to keep Iwai close to him. He needed to. It wasn’t even really lying. It was just concealing the truth a bit. Hiding. And that was fine. It was…

….right. As if. 

Of course, Dojima knew he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t lie about it anymore. Obviously he should, he’d be crazy not to. He’d be fucked for life and possibly sent to jail if Iwai decided to press charges. But he just couldn’t live with a secretlike that. It was nefarious and so wrong. Iwai was a good guy—one of the best Dojima had met in a long time. He deserved to know the truth. No matter what that meant for Dojima. 

It sucked, but. That only left the second option: Buckle down like a man and tell him. 

Knowing himself and knowing that the truth was an inevitable part of this, Dojima worked for the next few days on the best way to come clean. He could just sit Iwai down and tell him. Hey, listen I’ve been spying on you. At first it was for work, and then…it was for my own sick pleasure. The direct approach. Nothing wrong with it.

But, because Dojima was helplessly obsessed with the crazy idea that he might on some level be able to salvage their relationship, he wanted to think of a way to tell him that softened the blow. Maybe he’d ask about Atsushi first. Act like he’d found out some other way, then throw in the bit about the wiretapping. As if it wasn’t a big deal. Just something he did as part of his job and then one thing lead to another…

…Bringing Atsushi into this was wrong, too. This wasn’t about Atsushi. It was about the two of them. (Not to mention the fact that Iwai hadn’t said a word about that kid. Were they on a break? Had they had a fight? Dojima couldn’t help being curious, but he didn’t know how to ask.) 

No matter how he looked at it, Dojima couldn’t find a good approach. There really wasn’t a good way. Forget about the fact that Dojima sucked at conversation and people-pleasing, you just couldn’t get around the awkwardness of the whole thing! 

Still…

Dojima looked at his phone. It was morning and he was on his way to work. He’d called Iwai the night before, just to talk. To ask him how his day went. They had a conversation. Like human beings. It was…nice. Sane. Some type of normal. Dojima laid in bed talking to his boyfriend on the phone (like a goddamn teenage girl) and went to sleep smiling. What the hell was his life right now. 

Then, before they hung up, Iwai invited him over to his apartment the following night. Said he’d been waiting for the chance to show him some things. And fuck if that didn’t make Dojima’s heart speed up. Iwai’s voice was so sexy and Dojima knew he was even sexier in person…

So he’d agreed. He was on his way over there after work today. 

It was time to face the music. Dojima didn’t know what to do; he barely even knew how he’d wound up in this position in the first place, but. He was doing this.

He needed to.

_________________________________________________

Kawamori was looking strangely long in the face that day. Like he hadn’t slept. Dojima had expected him to look relieved, or even neutral—whatever strange facsimile passed for happiness on a guy like that—considering the raid the feds had done the night before. Wasn’t the Hashiba case cracked? Solved? Arrests made? Time for sushi and a night of back-slapping? 

Apparently not. 

Tamashiro greeted Dojima at his desk. “Morning, Junes,” he chirped robotically. “Boss wants to see us in his office. Get a move on.” 

Dojima didn’t like the sound of that. 

Inside the office, Kawamori asked them to close the door behind them. “Alright, we’re fucked, boys.” 

Tamashiro checked the door again, nervous that he hadn’t closed it in time and now the whole station knew that little bit of unfortunate news. “Sir? Wasn’t the raid last night?” 

“That’s right,” Kawamori dug a cigarette out of his desk and stuck it in his mouth. He was fully chewing on it. “They arrested a bunch of assholes down at the docks. It was a pretty big success, thanks to the tip Dojima got out of that Iwai character.”

Dojima and Tamashiro exchanged uneasy glances. “So…?”

Throwing his cigarette across the room, Kawamori slammed his hand on the desk. “There was no sign of that Ichijo motherfucker anywhere! Nowhere to be found! That dirty little….” He wiped his face with both hands, trying to stay calm. 

It was disheartening to hear that Ichijo hadn’t be caught. They were all hoping for a nice little bow to wrap this case up. One unrepentant asshole behind bars. Call it a day. But Ichijo hadn’t been at the docks for the raid. He’d gotten away…

“Bastard…” Dojima growled. He hated when they got away. 

Although, let’s face it, he should be used to it by now. Life wasn’t a storybook with book ends on either side. It was a mess. He needed to learn to get used to that kind of thing.

Tamashiro sighed. “So, the search continues.” 

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Kawamori looked up. “Yeah. Here we go again.” 

“Well, there’s always a chance one of the people the feds apprehended at the docks will talk,” Tamashiro pointed out. “They’ll be looking to make deals right about now.” 

“Yeah, if only we had something connecting Ichijo to the shipment,” Kawamori retorted. He dug around for another unlit cigarette. “We got nothing. No trace of the sorry fucker.” 

That was bad news. No trace meant that Ichijo was wise to them. He might have even seen the raid coming and prepped his guys not to say a word. Most likely, they wouldn’t talk. That was a dead end. 

“Scour the streets,” Kawamori decreed. “Hit up all your guys. Follow every lead, no matter how minor. The feds want this guy locked up yesterday. Anything we bring to the table will look like a miracle right now.” 

Tamashiro and Dojima nodded. They knew why Kawamori had summoned them and not anyone else. This didn’t look so good on the department. Best not to let word get out right away. It would on its own, in time, people talked. But Kawamori wanted to keep a lid on it for as long as possible. At least it said something that he trusted Dojima to be a confidant for this shit show. Small blessing. 

Heart heavy, Dojima went to vending machines. He bought a black coffee and sucked it down, feeling the bitterness settle in his chest. Disappointment was hard. The worst thought he had right now was that he wasn’t done pumping Iwai for information. Kawamori had told him to hit up all their guys.

Was Iwai his guy? Dojima guessed he was. In…more ways than one. 

But it felt wrong to still be bothering him! He’d done more than enough for the department already! Besides, it wasn’t like Iwai wanted to get any more involved than he was. 

…Although, on the other hand, if their professional relationship wasn’t over, then that meant Dojima had yet another reason to keep the truth from Iwai. Just a little longer. For the good of the department. For his job, for the case. He should keep up appearances until the Hashiba case was laid to rest for good and then…

And then he would tell him. Definitely. Once it was over and he had all the information he needed…he would…

Dojima thunked his head against the vending machine. Was he really this pathetic? Using his job to weasel out of coming clean to his boyfriend? Shit, maybe he was. And why did that word ‘boyfriend’ fuck with his head so much? That alone was disturbing! He needed to get out of his own head and face facts.

He needed to stop putting this off. One way or the other. He needed to end this. 

________________________________________________

It was raining again when Dojima showed up at Iwai’s apartment. For once, he remembered his goddamn umbrella. Still, he sat in his car for a while as the rain torrented down. Waiting for it to stop, postponing the inevitable. One of those. 

There was something strange about sitting in the parking lot without the listening device. However fucked up it was, Dojima could feel its missing presence like a phantom limb. He should be wearing his headphones, he should have his finger on the button ready to tap in. He should be. But…he wasn’t. After about a month of listening, Dojima had gotten to the point where he wasn’t here because of work. He was here for Iwai.

Just Iwai. Not the yakuza nonsense. None of that. Dojima had decided he didn’t even want to talk about the things Kawamori had told him this morning. If he brought that into this whole thing, it would mess it up. Iwai would be confused. Were they getting together to talk about work or to hook up? It needed to be clear. 

Dojima didn’t want to talk about work. He didn’t want to touch his badge or his responsibilities or any of it. He wanted to pretend he wasn’t a cop (and a pathetic one at that). He didn’t want to act like a father right now, either. He wanted to just be a man. A normal man. 

If only he had any idea how that was supposed to look. A man without all the trappings of who Dojima was. He’d long since forgotten how to be someone like that. 

Rubbing his face (shit, Dojima realized he’d forgotten to shave that morning, his chin was stubbly), Dojima gathered all the vestiges of his gumption. Whatever it was in his heart or his gut that kept him going. He didn’t know the word for that (it wasn’t pride or faith or optimism, not by a long shot). That thing. The inertia of forward motion. Emotionless continuity. The only thing keeping him on his feet after all these years. 

So, he gathered his sorry excuse for purpose and headed out into the rain. To the man he couldn’t resist. 

He rang Iwai’s apartment and shouted over the downpour, “Hey. It’s me.” 

He was here. Ready or not. He pressed in with the buzzer. 

Dojima showed up at the door to Iwai’s apartment looking like something the cat dragged in, he was sure. Unshaven, dressed in wrinkled, wet clothes. On the wrong side of 45. Skirting the edge of 'out of shape.’ Coffee breath and awkward glances and ungainly steps. Permanent tiredness, soul-deep grouchiness. An attitude problem. Dojima was all of these things as he stood at Iwai’s door. That was the truth. There was no way for him to be anything else.

But even so. When Iwai saw him, he smiled. He was wearing a muscle tank top, a baggy hoodie, and some sweatpants. Barefoot. He looked calm and causal. He held his door open wide and smiled at Dojima like he was happy to see him. 

That smile made something in Dojima’s heart melt. His posture softened and he couldn’t help smiling back. He wanted to grab Iwai by the shoulders and pull him close. Press his nose into the crook of his neck and inhale. Smell him. Collapse. Pretend they’d just met and that Dojima hadn’t started this relationship by being a creep. He wanted Iwai to hold him and tell him what he wanted to do. Take control of this. 

Dojima wanted that so bad he even raised one hand to do it. Without thinking. Fortunately, he remembered himself at the last second and dropped it. Cleared his throat and looked away. Unsure what he should do that would be in any way normal. 

Iwai chuckled. “Well. You look like shit. What the hell happened to you today, Detective?” 

“Tch!” What an ass! But, fanning the flames of his anger felt…normal. Dojima scowled at Iwai and felt instantly grateful. 

“Jackass,” he said. “Have you looked outside? It’s raining cats and dogs out there!” He sighed. “Plus, work was a pain in the ass. I’m beat.” 

Iwai nodded. “I hear that. Come on in, I’ll get you a beer.” 

“Thanks.” 

The inside of Iwai’s apartment was more or less what Dojima imagined. A sparse living room with an attached kitchen and one bedroom across, then another bedroom down the hall. Small, functional, and very lived in. There were dirty clothes here and there, unfinished drinks on the counter. A vague smell of cigarette smoke and hondashi broth. The carpet looked like it hadn’t been vacuumed in some time. After all, two single guys lived here, a high schooler and a bachelor. When you took that into account, the place actually looking pretty good! 

It felt like somebody’s home. Dojima liked that. He immediately felt at ease. He helped himself to a seat on the slightly deflated couch. 

Now, where was that thing…? Dojima glanced around. Trying to imagine where it had been hidden. He felt the little device he’d swiped from the office today in his pocket. He tapped it with his thumb, considering it. 

“Here.” Iwai returned with two beers. Dojima took his gratefully. “Hope you don’t expect me to pour for you or somethin’.” 

Cracking the top on his beer, Dojima smiled ruefully and shook his head. “Nah, you’re good. This is more than enough after a day like today.” 

Iwai sat next to him on the couch, folding his legs under him criss-cross. Like a little kid. He looked way too natural like that. Dojima couldn’t help staring. 

“Yeah, I like cold beer on a shitty, rainy day. Clears the air, I guess.” Iwai took a hearty gulp of his drink. “Or maybe just my head.” 

As the carbonation and alcohol settled into Dojima’s system, he started to relax. Iwai’s presence and this humble apartment. It was all so nice. Dojima wished he could just sink into the couch, rest his head on Iwai’s shoulder, and stop thinking. He really, _really_ wished...

Suddenly he felt a hand on the back of his neck. He startled, guard up. 

“Relax,” Iwai grumbled. “It’s just me.” He carded his fingers through Dojima’s damp hair. Stroking his head. 

“Mmm…” Dojima sighed before he could stop himself. That felt really nice. A casual touch like that. So comforting. It was wrong to enjoy this before he spilled his guts, but…maybe just a few more minutes until it all went to shit. Just another couple of seconds…

“Take it easy now, alright?” Iwai inched closer to him. “Day’s done.”

If only it were. The worst part of the day had just begun. 

Heart breaking, Dojima pushed Iwai’s hand away. He moved back, creating more distance between them. It was so hard to do. The space between them made Dojima feel like he was ripping apart at the seams. Here in front of him was the guy he wanted to do everything to, and he had to pull away! 

Fuck that. It wasn’t fair! 

Except, it was. Dojima had wronged him first. Now he needed to make amends. Like a goddamn adult. 

For fuck’s sake…

“Hmm? You okay?” Iwai frowned. 

Ignoring that (because, let’s face it, he wasn’t okay), Dojima asked, “Where’s Kaoru?” 

“He’s at a friend’s house.” Iwai leaned back against the couch. Trying to read Dojima’s face, but giving him his space. “Some guy Nakamura. I’m pretty sure he’s his boyfriend, actually.” 

“What?!” The unused parts of Dojima’s brain exploded. “Boyfriend?! Are you sure?” 

Iwai shrugged. “Nope. Not at all. I just got a feeling.” 

How could he be so casual about that?! That his son was gay—or, well, maybe not _gay,_ but…although, Iwai really couldn’t judge on that front because he was too (or was he? Something along those lines? What did people call themselves these days when they talked about their sexual orientation? Did they still say ‘gay?’). Not only that, but Kaoru was actively dating! And maybe…doing other stuff too! How was that okay?! 

“You just let him do that stuff?” Dojima asked in disbelief. Largely horrified.

Iwai glared at his beer. “Well, it’s not really something I can control, you know? The kids gonna do what he wants. He’s at that age now. Can’t really stop him.” He shrugged again. “And if I tried to, it would only push him away I think. So I gotta let him do his thing. But if he gets his heartbroken…that’s another story. No promises on that one.” 

Dojima bounced his eyebrows. Wow, he thought. “Still, though. You let him stay over there…with that other boy…” 

“Like I said, Kaoru does what he wants.” Iwai took another sip. “He’s a good kid. I trust him to be safe. We already, uh…” He sighed deeply. “…had that talk. You know. About sex and everything. That was pretty fun.” 

Ouch. Dojima grimaced in commiseration. The safe sex talk. He lived in fear of that conversation every second of his life. Iwai was a bigger man than him, just diving in and getting it done. Dojima couldn’t wait long enough to have that talk with Nanako! Although, realistically, it would need to happen sooner or later…he couldn’t trust the teachers at school to do it for him. He was her parent, for god’s sake…

…but he preferred not to think too hard on it. 

He couldn’t help being curious, though… “What about Kaoru’s mother?” he asked. 

Iwai scowled and shook his head. “Not in the picture. Why, what about her?” 

“No, I was just wondering…” Dojima realized he might be tiptoeing into sensitive territory. And he really didn’t mean to judge, it wasn’t like that. “I wondered if she had her own opinions about…that stuff. Or if she’s part of his life or…anything, really.” 

They’d never talked about her before. Dojima didn’t know the first thing about Iwai’s parenting situation and he didn’t want to imply anything. But, he did, on some level, kind of want to know. A bit. Even in solidarity, as a fellow single parent. 

“Nah, she doesn’t at all.” Iwai rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t have any idea where she is. Or if she’s even alive. She’s…I mean, Kaoru’s…” Iwai sniffed hard. He didn’t look angry or uncomfortable, he just seemed not to know the right words to explain it properly. Dojima could relate to that! “He’s not actually mine, you know? I adopted him when he was little.”

Intrigued and impressed, Dojima nodded. “Oh. Well, if you adopted him then he’s yours.” 

At that, Iwai broke into a small smile. “Right. But I mean, we’re not related by blood. It was kind of a…weird situation that brought us together.” 

Now Dojima was fully invested. He was fascinated by Iwai as a whole, and to hear about his adopted son…he was already amazed, and he was sure the story was even better! “Go on,” he encouraged. “If, you know. If that’s okay with you. I don’t mean to pry.” 

Iwai’s smile brightened. “Yeah, I can tell you. I don’t mind people knowing about it these days. Kaoru’s heard it before. And you already know I was in the yakuza so…” 

Thus began one of the most unfortunate stories Dojima ever heard. A mother down on her luck trying to sell her own son for money. It broke Dojima’s heart to hear about poor little Kaoru, a small child who didn’t even cry when his mother left him. Because he was used to being alone. And then, Iwai…some kind of blessed saint, taking in a kid on a whim like that. Because he felt bad! Anyone at the station who heard the story wouldn’t have believed it in a million years, but Dojima knew better. He knew Iwai well enough by now to know that doing something like that was exactly in character for him. Ruining his life for the sake of someone else, a helpless baby. Starting up a small business he didn’t even like just to make ends meet. Raising Kaoru for the rest of his life. 

“I wanted to give him a fair shot,” Iwai explained. “Seemed like the right thing to do. And you know what? I’ve never regretted it. I think adopting Kaoru is the best thing I ever did.” He shrugged and polished off his beer. “So. Yeah.” 

Dojima’s lips pulled into a warm smile. He was blown away by Iwai. Such a kindhearted man wrapped in the body of a prickly yakuza. And a hell of a dad, at that! 

Regardless of anything else, Dojima was so glad he met Iwai. If there could be a person like him, then maybe humanity wasn’t as thoroughly fucked as Dojima used to think.

“Yeah,” he agreed wholeheartedly. “I bet it was. Good for you, man.” Dojima rapped his knuckles on Iwai’s shoulder. A tender sign of approval. “And good for Kaoru. You definitely did right by that kid. He’s living a good life and he’s making something for himself up at that school. That’s great.” 

Iwai looked away. Was that…a blush on his cheeks?! Dojima had to fight to hold back his laughter. What the fuck, that was the cutest shit he’d ever seen! 

“Thanks…” Iwai mumbled. Actually bashful! Then, he cleared his throat and rounded on Dojima. “How about you, Mr. Detective? What about Nanako’s mom?” 

Right. Him. His deal. Well, it was a fair question. 

Dojima took a big gulp of his drink before he answered. “Yeah, uh…my wife. Nanako’s mom. She…” He pursed his lips, holding steady against the onslaught of feelings that came whenever he talked about this. “…well, she passed away when Nanako was little. Car accident. Hit and run.” 

Iwai reared back in honest surprise. “Shit. That’s terrible.” The weight of the moment sank in for a few seconds. Then he said what everyone always said when they heard about it, “I’m sorry…” 

Dojima shook his head. This was the part where he said, ‘No it’s okay, we’re doing fine. Nanako’s a tough kid. She takes after her mother like that. We’re getting by, just doing our best…blah blah blah.’ It was a script Dojima had memorized ever since the day of his wife’s funeral. He’d had a grieving period while they laid her ashes to rest. Now that was done and he needed to be strong. For Nanako, for the people in Inaba who would surely talk behind his back if they knew how bad he was struggling. He couldn’t be seen as struggling in their eyes. In anyone’s eyes. Dojima needed to be strong. His wife was dead before her time and it wasn’t at all okay (not even remotely, not then, not now, not ever), but it needed to be okay anyway.

That’s how things were in Inaba. It’s how Dojima felt for the longest. 

But for some reason, there on Iwai’s couch, after hearing the crazy story of how Kaoru came into Iwai’s life…that old polished lie just didn’t sound right.

“It’s…yeah. It’s really hard.” Shit, that was actually the truth! Dojima had never said it before. Now that it was out, he felt weird. Like he was floating in limbo, unsure which way was up or down. Where they went from here. He was still breathing, so that was good, but…how could anyone possibly respond when he was being brutally honest like that…? 

“Fuck, yeah, of course!” Iwai huffed. “Ain’t easy moving on from something like that. Plus you gotta be there for Nanako and work your shitty job and all that. I don’t know how the hell you’ve been pulling it off!” 

…Oh. So that’s how it sounded when someone actually heard him. When they weren’t afraid of the negative stuff and just saw the truth as it was. 

Now it was Dojima’s turn to blush. 

“Well, I…can’t say I’ve done a great job.” Dojima scratched his forehead. “I left Nanako alone too much when she was young. Probably still do. I’m…not exactly father of the year.”

“Mm.” Iwai closed the distance between them. He put his big hands on Dojima’s face, turning his chin to look him in the eye. “Listen. There ain’t actually any awards like that, you know? No such thing as father of the year. We just do the best we can out here. As parents.” He shrugged. “And we could always do better, yeah? All of us. Can’t ever get too comfortable.”

He was right. When Dojima realized how right Iwai was, he almost laughed. Parenting wasn’t a goalpost. It was a constant state of being. Maybe he’d done wrong by Nanako when she was little. But that wasn’t the end of their story. Every day he worked harder to be there for her, more and more, because every day she was still in his life. And he in hers. They were a family. Being a family was its own kind of karma. On and on went the cycle.

Iwai got that. He’d been living that cycle same as Dojima. Nothing could ever be perfect, but at least it kept going. He’d keep going. They both would. Single dads on a path to survival. 

Dojima didn’t have any words for how it felt to be seen by Iwai in that moment. He might have cried, but really he was past tears. He’d had his cry (humiliating as it was) the other day. Now he felt a strange kind of…joy. A warmth that nestled in his core and spread through him like a drop of water across dry paper.It spread until it consumed him. Iwai knew the truth about Dojima, his most brutal failure: The fact that he wasn’t always cutting it as a dad. That he was still hurting from his wife’s death, that he wasn’t as strong as everyone wanted to believe. Iwai knew all that and still…

Even still, he was leaning in to kiss him. 

His lips tasted as good as Dojima remembered. He smelled so fucking good. His usual smell, plus the lingering scent of worn clothes. These were his house clothes and they smelled like human being. That was comforting in its own right. His face pressed against Dojima’s and weight of him inching forward…Dojima drowned in him and moaned. He wrapped his arms around Iwai’s neck, locking him in place. Kissing him hard. Hoping that his lips said all the things his words couldn’t. How much he appreciated Iwai and respected him. How grateful he was to have him in his life. How much he desperately need him. 

Iwai slipped his tongue into Dojima’s mouth and Dojima twitched. He wasn’t ready for how good that felt. Since when was his mouth so sensitive? Iwai’s tongue sliding against the roof of his mouth somehow felt like hands on his cock. Or it had to be because Dojima was throbbing below the waist. In time to Iwai’s tongue. 

That fucking little tongue. It would be the death of him for sure.

Grinning against his lips, Iwai pulled away for a moment and said, “Hnnnh. You lost your razor or something? Your face is rough today, Detective.” 

Shit. Why did his cock jump every time Iwai called him that? ‘Detective.’ It was just his job! But on Iwai’s lips, with his goddamn sexy voice, with who he was (that shit-kicking yakuza with a heart of gold), that word…it went directly between his legs. No stopping it. No denying it. 

“Not that I’m complaining,” Iwai went on. He stroked Dojima’s cheek and Dojima had to take a deep breath to stay in control. Iwai was unmanning him with all his soft touches and his gravely voice. “I like a man with some grit.” 

That was good, but Dojima was sure he didn’t have any idea why Iwai liked him. How could he be Iwai’s type? It didn’t make sense…

Iwai ran his hand down Dojima’s front. He stopped at the obvious bulge in his pants. He gripped it firmly and moaned breathily. A sound and a sensation that made Dojima shudder from the center of his being. He was hard enough for it to be uncomfortable now. Urgent. In sore need of attention.

“Mmm…this is as big as it was the other day, huh…” Iwai mused. Clearly turned on while he pumped Dojima over his pants. “So fucking hard. Is this just how you are? That’s really impressive…”

Dojima trembled like a leaf under his touch. He fisted Iwai’s hoodie in an attempt to keep it together. With all the fabric gathered in his hands, he could see Iwai’s bare shoulders underneath. And holy shit, goddamn it, he was right…Iwai was covered in tattoos. Both shoulders, at least two half sleeves that Dojima could see. They were the usual yakuza fare, traditional Japanese designs with a winding red and black carp across one shoulder. Facing up. It looked like its body went down into Iwai’s back. The ink was stark, but at least it was colorful. In contrast, the little gecko on Iwai’s neck looked so simple! Plain, almost innocent! Knowing now that the gecko was the symbol of Iwai’s found family with Kaoru, that made sense. 

He was so fucking beautiful. 

Dojima threw himself on Iwai. He kissed his bare shoulder so hard he bit him—a little bit more than he intended. In this place on Iwai’s body, everything was ink and drawn scales like an unnatural second skin and shadows. Mixed with Iwai’s regular delicious scent. Dojima was losing his mind. He kissed him sloppily, leaving a trail of saliva everywhere he went. 

Iwai turned his head to give Dojima more access. “Yeah, there you are. Had me worried for a second. Thought maybe you were having second thoughts.” 

“No.” Dojima shook his head and bit Iwai’s shoulder roughly. Immediately addicted to the taste of his skin (tattooed skin was different than regular flesh, now he knew that too). “Never.” 

Iwai grunted as he withstood Dojima’s chaotic attention. Every time Dojima bit down, he felt Iwai flex under his lips. Tightening. That meant he liked it, right? Dojima glanced between Iwai’s legs. Sure enough, Iwai was showing off a ridiculous bulge that rivaled Dojima’s. Yup. He liked it alright. 

That was cause for celebration. Another man’s hard dick. Dojima wanted to sing his happiness from the rooftops. And that was absurd, but it was also completely true. 

Dojima pushed the hoodie off Iwai’s shoulder, down to his elbows. He kissed and sucked as he exposed more skin. Unable to stop himself. Iwai was yelping softly with pleasure and that was the best thing in the world…

There was something…Dojima felt something nagging at the back of his head. Was he forgetting something? He knew he was, he was still nervous about something, but he couldn’t take the time to actually think about it because…because Iwai was in front of him with his hard cock and his hands and those little noises…

Dojima grabbed a fistful of Iwai’s pecs. A subconscious move for him. When it came to ass and titties, well, Dojima was a titty man. Apparently that held true for either gender. He found Iwai’s nipples and rubbed circles into them with his palms. 

“Damn, man…” Iwai sucked in air between his teeth. “You’re really going at those…” 

“Sorry.” Dojima said that, but he wasn’t sorry at all. He loved Iwai’s pecs, and he loved those little nipples getting hard under his hands. Perking up just fine with the right attention. 

Iwai’s hands were still in Dojima’s lap. He moved to wrap them around Dojima’s ass, but in the process his hand brushed against the thing in Dojima’s pocket. 

“Hm? What’s this?” 

It was impossible not to notice. The device fell out of Dojima’s pocket on a second pass, and now Iwai was picking it up. Holding the remote in his hand, trying to figure out its purpose.

“…Oh. That.” Dojima stared at the device and all his worries instantly crashed around him. Not out of nowhere—he’d been prepared for this. Everything they’d been doing until now felt like balancing fragile china on the edge of a broomstick. Finally gravity had kicked in and it all came tumbling down. Shattering. 

He still hadn’t come clean about the wiretapping. 

The devil inside Dojima reared its head. ….So? he thought. Iwai was still oblivious! Dojima could lie and say that device was the fob to his car keys or something. It was small enough. He could make anything up! And he probably should! For a bunch of practical reasons (his job, his professional safety, this newborn relationship) and also the most important reason of all: The wood he was dealing with right now. Full-blown and ready to burst. Begging him to leave well enough alone, just for now, until Dojima's hard-on went down and he could think again…

He should…

He looked Iwai in the eye. That decided everything. He couldn’t lie anymore. Not after Iwai had seen the heart of him, since they’d shared each other’s stories. Since he’d accepted Dojima’s failings as a father and was still into him. He couldn’t lie to Iwai. Iwai didn’t deserve that—even considering it was shameful in comparison to the honest life Iwai led. The good deeds he’d built his reality on. 

Dojima couldn’t do it. 

He hung his head and sighed. This is where it ended. 

“I…was going to tell you…” He looked away. Ashamed. 

“Tell me what?” Iwai really didn’t know. 

“I…” Dojima sighed and struggled to his feet. Leaving the warmth of Iwai’s bare arms was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. “It’s easier if I just show you.”

Saying nothing else, Dojima turned on the device. It chirped a quick beep and Dojima nodded grimly. He figured he’d start with the walls. He held the device over the far wall of the hallway and carefully searched. Nothing. The red light was on, meaning the device was reading, but it wasn’t turning up anything.

“What are you doing?” Iwai asked, aggravation rising in his voice. 

Dojima stayed quiet. He ran the remote over the coffee table and the couch. Nothing. The kitchen counter. Still nothing. Then, the little shelf hanging between the kitchen and the first bedroom. There was a picture on there of Kaoru when he was in elementary school, one of those expensive shots parents were pressured into buying for their kids every year. It was displayed proudly (but there were noticeably no others; apparently Iwai learned his lesson about the school picture scam early). And sure enough, when Dojima passed the remote over the picture, it started beeping rapidly. Positive. Sighing, Dojima picked up the picture frame and inspected it closely.

Really, they’d stuck it on a picture of his kid? That was a new low.

“You gonna explain yourself?” Iwai demanded. On his feet now.

Dojima found it. A tiny black circle smaller than the fingernail on Dojima’s pinky. He plucked it off the frame with surprising ease. It whined miserably at being caught and being in close proximity to the bug-finder. Dojima was going to put a stop to this once and for all! He tossed the thing on the ground and stomped on it. 

Done. 

He picked up the mangled scraps of the bug and handed them to Iwai. “Here. Your apartment was bugged. Figured you had a right to know. I think there was only the one device, though. So. You should be good now.” 

Iwai stared at the shredded listening device in his hand. He looked angry, but not particularly shocked. “You saying…the police had tabs on me? Someone was listening to me in my house?” 

Dojima wished he had the balls to laugh. “Yeah. Someone.” He sat back down on the couch. “Uh…me. I was the one listening to you. About a month ago my boss told me to monitor you. He gave me the listening device and told me to keep track of what you were doing, who was coming in, what you were talking about, and like that. I guess the feds installed that microphone when you weren’t home. It…uh, it picks up…a lot.” 

At last, Iwai’s face melted into shock. As it should. His jaw dropped and his cheeks flushed with what could have been rage. Or embarrassment. Or the feeling of sheer violation, because he certainly had been violated.

Dojima nodded and let the truth settle for a few seconds. Then he said, “It was wrong, Iwai. It’s definitely not legal and I shouldn’t have agreed to do it in the first place.” He hung his head in shame. Considering getting on his knees. “But I did. And I’m…sorry. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I did it. Really sorry.” 

“You’re not fucking with me, are you?” Iwai sounded breathless. So angry he could barely talk. 

“Nope. I’m dead serious.” Dojima wiped his sweaty hands on his thighs. “I…I listened just about every night. I heard things I had no business hearing…” 

Now for the real truth. It was all or nothing right now. Do it, Dojima urged himself. Fucking tell the truth like a man for once! 

“I heard you and…your boy. That guy, um…” Dojima was beat red and shaking. The world around him felt sour and too bright. Admitting this was the most embarrassing thing he’d ever done in his life. “Atsushi, I think his name is. I…could hear…everything…umm, I mean…so. Uh, yeah.” 

Shit. _Shit_ , that sucked! Why did it have to sound like that? As bad as it could possibly be?

…Because it was. It was as bad as it could possibly be. Everything terrible that could have come out of this situation had already happened. Except for—

“Oh, but, I didn’t tell anyone. I never reported, uh, that part to my boss. They don’t know about you or Atsushi or anything like that. I’m the only one who knows. It wasn’t related to the case, so…I told them that you had no ties to the yakuza coming in here and that’s the truth. So you’re off their radar for now. If that…means anything to you.”

Iwai took a deep, warbling breath. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. He was either getting ready to knock Dojima flat on his ass or to throw him out in the street. And that would be an easy sentence! He was well within his rights to press charges against the whole police department! Not to mention Dojima himself…

Dojima waited for his punishment. He bit the inside of his lips, mourning the loss of Iwai’s sweet embrace. Knowing that he didn’t deserve it. Not a single bit of it. Wanting it anyway. His erection had flagged but he was still blue balling. Couldn’t help that. 

Iwai muttered something under his breath. He squeezed the microphone in his fist, grinding it to dust. Then he threw it violently into the trashcan in his kitchen. Cursing loudly. 

“Those sorry motherfuckers…I knew they had something on me, but my apartment? Fuck’s sake…fucking cunts can go straight to hell…” 

Maybe Dojima should just leave. “Um, I can go if…I understand if you never want to see me again…” 

“Wait.” Iwai emerged from the kitchen with a scowl on his face. “Sit your ass down, Detective.” 

Immediately, Dojima sat. Hands folded. Like a schoolboy waiting for his teacher to give him a cursory smack.

“You’re telling me,” Iwai began, standing in front of him at his full height. “That you’ve been out there—where, in your car or something?” 

Dojima obediently nodded.

“In your fucking car, listening to me and Atsushi going at it for, what, a month? And god knows what else? Kaoru’s day to day too?” 

Again, Dojima nodded. “…Yeah. I’m sorry.”

Here it comes…

With a rush of hot air, Iwai exhaled everything he had in his body. He sat down on the couch with a thunk. Resting his elbows on his knees. “That’s…really low, man. You know that?” 

“I know.” Dojima was hurt by the disappointment in Iwai’s voice more than anything. “You’re right. I’m scum. You can hit me if you want. I’ll give you one free punch. Make it a good one, you hear? Because after that I’ll have no choice but to defend myself…I got a kid and all…” 

A low, ambling laugh built in Iwai’s chest. When Dojima heard it, he thought he was going crazy. Iwai couldn’t be laughing…could he? He whipped around to face the man and sure enough, there was Iwai. Shaking his head and laughing the most bewildered laugh Dojima had ever heard. What…what, was he insane? 

“The fuck am I supposed to do with you, Detective?” 

Dojima sputtered. “W-what? What do you mean? I told you, you get one free punch—”

“Fuck that!” Iwai threw his hands up. “Like one punch is gonna make up for a month of your nonsense! Violating my civil rights and shit! Come on, man.” He sighed again. “Besides, I don’t want to hit you. Won’t change anything.” 

“Then what do you want?” Dojima was getting nervous. He hadn’t paid his dues yet and that was probably a bad sign. “You can sue the department, you know. You have a pretty good case here. I’m sure you’d come out with good chunk of money, at least—”

“I just want to know one thing.” Iwai held up a finger. “And tell me the truth, because I’m gonna know if you’re lying.” He looked him dead in the eye. “Did you get off on it? Listening to me getting dick every night? Did that turn you on? Huh? Did it?” 

Heat flooded Dojima’s face. He was sure the answer was obvious enough, but Iwai wanted to hear it. And…well, Dojima supposed he’d earned that. He deserved to know, even though it would kill a piece of Dojima’s pride and leave it dead for the rest of his life. Iwai should know.

“Ugh…” Dojima grit his teeth. “Yes, alright? I got off on it! A lot! And it got way out of hand! I had this like…total fixation with you…and…now we’re here and I don’t know why, okay—”

Miraculously, Iwai threw his head back and laughed. It was a loud bellow that shook the walls around them. The fullest laugh Dojima had heard from him yet. It was heart-wrenchingly contagious. Dojima couldn’t help the goofy grin that appeared on his face in spite of everything. Hearing a laugh like that at a time like this, Dojima had a feeling that maybe everything in his head was just that: In his head. Suddenly everything was out in the open and here they were. Laughing like idiots.

Dojima was lightheaded. His mind torn to pieces. He laughed along with Iwai and tried to pick up the threads of his lost sanity. 

“Ah man, that’s hilarious.” Iwai wiped his mouth. “Serves you right, Detective. Invading a guy’s privacy. Never know what you might hear. Now you got a bad crush. You’re like a high schooler, getting boners all the time, wetting his pants in the middle of the night…” 

Dojima nodded. Past shame. Besides, it was true. “Yeah. That’s what happened.” 

When Iwai stroked the side of his face, Dojima closed his eyes in helpless relief. Deflating into Iwai’s hands with the last of his strength. He kissed Iwai’s palm, beyond gratitude or anything else. Overjoyed that he was still allowed to do even this. 

He needed to know. “So…are you pissed at me, or…?” 

“Honestly?” Iwai closed the distance between them. He kissed Dojima’s forehead and for real Dojima thought he might cry. “In a way, I’m glad it was you. If anyone else had done it they would have outed me to the whole department and harassed me for the rest of my life. Atsushi too. I know exactly how it would have gone down. They would have dragged him in for questioning and made his life a living hell, just to get some information that didn’t even exist. And they would have gotten a confession in the end. They always do.” 

Unfortunately, nothing Iwai said there was wrong.

“But, because it was you…” Iwai kissed his cheek. “Because it was you and you’re a stand-up guy, for the most part, it didn’t happen like that. You kept it under wraps for me and now I’m off the hook. Only thing that happened was you jerking it with me in your head. That’s not so bad.” He smiled and leaned in to speak directly into Dojima’s ear. “Actually it’s kinda hot.” 

Shit. There it was. That ridiculous fucking hard-on. Back again with a vengeance. 

“So, nah. I’m not pissed at you, Detective.” He nipped Dojima’s earlobe, knowing exactly what he was doing. “Even if you are a creep.” 

Dojima wrapped him in a hug. He felt baptized by fire. He’d done it, admitted absolutely everything wrong with him, all his failings and his most private shame. Now they were at the other end of it and somehow—fucking _somehow_ —Iwai still wanted him. 

Dojima knew he didn’t deserve this. He really didn’t. He’d fucked up so bad and he wasn’t a good person, not half as much as Iwai. He didn’t deserve to have Iwai at all.

But even so, he had him. So, fuck it. He’d take it. 

Throwing caution—and everything fucking else—to the wind, Dojima grabbed Iwai’s face and kissed him hard. He poured his soul into that kiss, unable to hold back now that he felt freed by his own confession. Weightless. And in love, let’s be honest. He kissed Iwai as hard as he knew how to kiss and Iwai made a surprised sound in the back of his throat. 

“Oh, can we still…?” Dojima searched his face, realizing he might have jumped the gun.

But Iwai just chuckled. “Yeah. We can.” 

Thank god! His brain shut off and his libido took over, his masculine instincts taking control. He pushed Iwai down on his back and spread out on top of him, between his legs. He kissed Iwai’s face, down to his neck, sucking on the hollow of his throat. Licking the part of Iwai’s pecs peeking out from his tank top. Greedy, Dojima pushed his shirt up and out of the way, breathless at the sight of Iwai’s naked, toned and tattooed torso. He kissed his abs, his chest, sloppy and uncoordinated. Everywhere he discovered on a haphazard route. He found his way to Iwai’s nipples and covered one with his mouth. Tonguing it hard the way he used to know how to do, the way that was built into his lizard brain. The sudden moan he got out of Iwai made him growl like an animal. 

He pressed his thigh between Iwai’s legs, grinding against Iwai’s hard-on. So hungry he could hardly see straight. Drool slipped out his mouth as he sucked Iwai’s nipples. He was subconsciously thrusting his hips against Iwai’s leg. That acute strain in his pants was at the forefront of his mind, nothing else. 

He chomped Iwai’s nipple harder than he should have.

“Ouch—hey!” Iwai grabbed his head in an effort to stop him. That was basically the only thing he could do. 

“Sorry…” Dojima panted, unable to stop his hips from moving for a full ten seconds before his brain kicked back in. He realized he was being too much. 

Get it together. He squeezed his eyes closed and took a breath. “Sorry,” he repeated. “I just…really need to fuck you.” 

Again, Iwai laughed. That harsh bellow was somehow so pleasing to the ears. “You ain’t gotta apologize for that, you know? You can fuck me all you want. How about that?” 

Dojima nodded. His brain oozing out his ears in a puff of steam. “Yes. Yes, please.” 

“Let’s head to the bedroom first, though. Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

In a daze, Dojima let himself be led into Iwai’s bedroom. He wasn’t too aware of anything besides the pretty colors on Iwai’s body. The thing that he wanted. He watched, transfixed, as Iwai threw his hoodie to the ground and slipped his tank top over his head. Dojima followed the shirt with his mouth. He kissed the shape of Iwai’s muscles, his arms, his back, his shoulders. Trying to commit the sight and taste to memory. He needed to, because he didn’t know when he’d get another chance! He’d been imagining this for so long. With the real thing in front of his face, he needed to work branding this image into his mind. 

“Let’s get you out of that suit.” Iwai undid Dojima’s tie and started unbuttoning his shirt. Why was he being so slow? 

Dojima reached around and grabbed a handful of Iwai’s ass. Fuck, it was so round and tight. He could get drunk on this ass. He really could. His hand dove into Iwai’s sweatpants, where he found that in fact Iwai was not wearing underwear. Figured. 

Before he knew what he was doing, Dojima was pushing Iwai’s pants to the ground. Leaving him standing there naked. Unashamed and gorgeous. 

“You’re so beautiful…” Dojima moaned. Not even aware how it sounded. It just came out.

His eyes landed on Iwai’s cock. Alright, that was a dick. Dojima would admit that for a split second it took him aback. He knew, of course, that Iwai was a man. Just a moment ago, he’d been grinding on that dick. But seeing it bare—thick, red, and hard, in front of his face—for the first time was a little…he swallowed. 

Shit, why was his mouth watering? Not only that, why did he suddenly want to know what Iwai smelled like, _there_? What would it taste like in his mouth, in the back of his throat? 

He swallowed again. Pausing. Not actually ready to…do any of that. 

Iwai filled the silence. “Tell me, Mr. Detective.” He undressed Dojima as he talked. Taking off pieces of clothing one by one. “Did you really jerk off in your car or did you wait until you got home? I want to hear all the details. I have a right to know, since you were thinking about me.” 

Standing in only his briefs, Dojima guessed that was true. He couldn’t think of a reason to hide anything from Iwai. “In my car…” he admitted, manhandling Iwai’s pecs again. 

“Really? Right there?” Iwai helped Dojima out of his briefs. “How many times did you cum? Just once and call it quits? Or did you keep going? Because Atsushi and I can go all night.” 

Dojima shook his head. “I kept going. Usually twice, sometimes more. I…tried to keep up with you guys.” 

Something was off. He was naked and the lights were on. Iwai could see everything. That should have bothered him more than it did—back when he was married, he and his wife always had sex with the lights off. It just seemed proper. They were country people, they always did the proper thing. This was…different.

Iwai chuckled. He got down on his knees— _fuck,_ again!—and Dojima sobbed. How was he supposed to stay in control with Iwai there on his knees?

“Well, I give you credit for trying,” Iwai sang. “Tell me, what was it that got you off in the end?” He exhaled loudly onto Dojima’s weeping dick. Licking the head, just to tease. “Was it imagining that you were in Atsushi’s place? Giving it to me good? Or was it the sounds I made?” He swirled his tongue across the shaft. “Did you like hearing me moan, detective?” 

“Sh-shit…I’m gonna cum, Iwai, you know I can’t…hold back when you…” Dojima thrust his dick into Iwai’s face. Already at the edge. 

“I know,” Iwai drawled. “But I wanna hear it.” He wrapped his mouth around Dojima and sucked him for a short, torturous moment. Then he popped off and demanded more embarrassing information. “What was going on in your head? What made you finally blow your load, in your car, again and again while you listened in on me like a little fucking pervert?” 

He tongued the vein on the under side of Dojima’s cock, knowing he was keeping the man within a hair’s breadth of cumming. Every nerve in Dojima’s body was on fire. He wanted to grab Iwai’s face and slam his dick down his throat. He wanted to hear what Iwai sounded like when he was choking on cock—

“It was your voice,” he admitted at last. “Your voice got me off so hard, Iwai. You sound like a fucking porn star when you’re taking it up the ass. You’ve got the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard…” 

Iwai laughed his beautiful laugh. “Didn’t even know I was performing! But I’ll take the compliment, man. Wanna fuck my throat?” 

“Yes!” 

Dojima shoved his dick into Iwai’s mouth. He did exactly what Iwai asked; he fucked his throat. It had been ages—in fact, he’d never really done this with someone before. He’d always been on his best behavior when receiving head, because the women he’d been with in the past could always change their mind at the last second. He respected that, and he didn’t want to lose his opportunity. So he’d never fucked someone’s mouth before. But now, here was Iwai, in all his glory. Letting Dojima make love to his face like he was trying to get it pregnant. Iwai took it all. Everything. He moaned and stayed still while Dojima thrusted until he finished. 

Which, to be fair, took about a minute. At most. Dojima came down his throat with a hearty cry, bending over at the waist. Shivering as he rode his quick orgasm to the fullest. 

“There you go.” Iwai’s voice sounded rougher than usual when he spoke again. That was hot, too. “I think you needed that. And you’re probably ready for more, huh?” 

Dojima was about to laugh. He wanted to tell him to go back and find him twenty years ago, but actually…Iwai was right. Dojima hadn’t gone all the way soft that time. Which was strange because it had been a hell of an orgasm—but Iwai’s mouth was on him again. Keeping him warm, keeping him hard. 

“Shit…” Dojima cursed. Realizing he wasn’t anywhere near done. That he would need a lot more before he could rest.

Iwai licked his lips, rising to his feet. “Sorry to make you cum so fast. But, I figured we’d let you get one out before we move on to the main event. This way you can really give it your all. Otherwise it wouldn’t be very satisfying for me.” 

“Oh…” That made sense. It was actually pretty smart.

“Plus, I wanted to tease you a little.” Iwai wrapped his arms around Dojima’s waist. “I like when you show off your rough side, Detective.” 

“Mmph.” Dojima would have liked giving a response to that. But he couldn’t. Because he brain had turned to mush. 

Taking him by the hand, Iwai pulled him to the bed. He laid down and dragged Dojima on top of him, kissing him softly as he went. Dojima was dizzy from his orgasm and from the raw need coursing through his veins. So he felt comfortable letting Iwai take the lead. He figured Iwai would know what to do. If his nights with Atsushi were anything to go by…

Which…he had to ask. “Atsushi,” he grunted, hating that he even needed to go here. Knowing there was no way around it. His heart needed to know. “Is he your boyfriend?” 

“At-chan? No, not at all.” Iwai reached into the nightstand and retrieved a condom and some lube. He passed them both to Dojima one by one. “He’s just a friend.”

Oh yeah, condoms. Dojima knew how to use these. If he remembered correctly…the science hadn’t really changed, right? They were just stretchier now? 

“So he’s a friend, but you sleep together all the time…?” Dojima trapped to wrap his head around that one. At least it was nice to have something to talk about rather than the awkward way he was handling this condom.

“That’s right,” Iwai answered. He took back the lube and spread some over his fingers. Realizing he should offer some much needed assistance. “We’re fuck buddies. It’s casual between us. At-chan actually has a fiancee. The guy’s, like, some famous author so he’s always traveling. Leaves Atsushi alone a lot. So we hook up.” Iwai paused, stroking Dojima’s hard cock with his lubed up fingers. Getting him wet. “I’ve met the fiancee once or twice. He’s a nice guy. He’s cool with me and At-chan fucking when he’s not around.” 

Dojima couldn’t begin to understand how that was supposed to work. An engagement where the couple wasn’t exclusive? He’d never heard of such a thing. But then again, he’d never heard of two men being engaged either. Where were they supposed to get married? Taiwan or the United States or something? What about their families? When would they get to have a ceremony? Too many questions. It made his head spin. 

What an idea, though. Two men getting married. Dojima imagined the scrawny, punk-looking kid he knew as Atsushi. That kid had some guy he actually loved. 

Good for him. If they ever met again, Dojima would buy him a drink and toast him. Give him his blessing. 

“Hey, still with me?” Iwai tugged Dojima’s cock to get his attention.

Dojima looked down at the man beneath him. The one pulling him closer by the cock. He took a second to appreciate the fact that he’d never—not in a million years—ever thought he’d be here. Sure, he was a man with feelings, but he never thought he’d act on those feelings at any point in his life. 

Being here right now meant the world to him. 

He fell on Iwai like a starving man. He figured out where his dick needed to go—Iwai had his legs open like the most inviting little slut. It turned Dojima on to no end. He slotted his cock against what he figured was Iwai’s hole and tried to push in. The need to be inside this man had consumed him completely. He felt like he might die if he didn’t get it soon—

“Whoa, whoa! Take it easy.” Iwai pushed against his chest and hooked his knee between them. Stopping him. “You can’t just put it in me! You gotta prep me first, okay? Goddamn…” He shook his head incredulously. “I’m not a woman, you know?” 

Oh. Right. With men there was another step. The stretching part. Dojima had sort of known that? He hadn’t ever imagined it. He’d just thought…well, usually Iwai took care of that in the shower before Atsushi came over so he didn’t think…

He was being an idiot. “Sorry,” he said, hanging his head. “I know, I just…yeah…I can, uh…what do you need, again?” 

Before he said anything, Iwai smiled. He cupped the side of Dojima’s face, pressing close to him. “This your first time with a guy?” 

Was it that obvious? Dojima just nodded. He didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or not, and about what he couldn’t say. But he felt…quiet. Quiet was a good word for it. 

Iwai’s face softened. He kissed Dojima’s cheek. “Well, I’m honored.” He took Dojima’s hand in his own. “I’ll show you, yeah?” 

Dojima nodded again. He’d lost his breath. He was so mesmerized by the feeling building between them…he would have done anything Iwai asked in that moment. 

Grabbing the lube again, Iwai poured some on Dojima’s fingers. Then, locking eyes with him, he guided his fingers where they needed to be. Back and behind, underneath. A place Dojima had imagined plenty of times but was now feeling with his own hand. 

“Feel that?” 

“Shit, yeah…” He could feel the place where Iwai opened for him. This was the most erotic moment of Dojima’s whole life.

“Press in.” 

It was warm inside. Sort of wet, but mostly just the tight stretch of muscle. Smoothed over by lube. Iwai smirked and shifted his hips, giving Dojima better access. When he went in deeper, up to his knuckles, Dojima felt like they were really fucking. 

This was serious.

“Open your fingers, like…yeah like that.” Iwai gave him encouragement and directions the whole way through. “Curl them towards yourself—ah, yeah, that’s it…thaaat’s it…a little farther…Hm, you’re lucky I have a lot of experience. You don’t need to take a lot of time with me…” 

But Dojima wanted to take time. He wanted Iwai to feel good. He wanted to see the look on his face when started to enjoy it—

“Ah, right there!” Iwai grabbed Dojima’s wrist to hold him in place. “That’s where it feels good, right there, _fuck_ …”

Elated, Dojima wiggled his fingers. He could sort of feel something there. Made sense. He started to get a handle on what he was doing. He stroked that spot again and again. Harder and harder, watching the amazing faces Iwai pulled. He looked adorable scrunching his mouth to one side, face getting redder and redder, matching the ink on his shoulders. 

This is what Iwai liked. Dojima could commit himself to this task like a man should for his lover. He would do it. 

He started fucking his fingers in and out of Iwai at that angle. Nailing his sweet spot with a good amount of force as he kept going. Quick and rough—

Suddenly Iwai writhed in place. His cock twitched hard. “Ah! Sh-shit, stop!” He pushed against Dojima again. Bringing their action to a halt. “T-too much! Jeez, you kinda made me cum a little bit there…go easy on a guy, will you?” 

“Sorry—I—” 

Dojima pulled his fingers out abruptly. Iwai twitched again, biting his lip to keep from moaning. He seemed much more sensitive now. That was…incredibly hot. Dojima lined his cock up to Iwai’s entrance again. Ready to beg. 

“Can I?” he asked, leaning over Iwai. Kissing his hole with his dick. “Please, will you let me…?” 

Iwai broke into another half smile. “Alright, alright.” He spread his legs wide and let Dojima push inside of him. “Go slow, you hear?” 

“I’ll…try.” He would do his best. 

Chuckling, Iwai wrapped his legs around Dojima. “Fuck, man. You’re so intense. I’m gonna have to put you on a leash or something…” 

That sounded fine to Dojima. But honestly, anything would have sounded fine because in the next moment his cock was inside Iwai. And it was like coming up for air after a long dive underwater. One where you went too far and didn’t make it to surface in time before your lungs started to hurt. That kind of dive. Dojima knew it well enough growing up around the beach. He felt just like that now. 

When they were finally connected, they both gasped. Iwai groaned a long note and Dojima buried his face in his neck. Making friends with the gecko. This was breathing. This was salvation, this was life. This was what he fucking needed. 

“Oh, god help me, you feel so good…!” Dojima moaned. He didn’t trust himself to move just yet. 

“Yeah. You’re filling me up pretty good yourself, big boy.” Iwai threaded his fingers through Dojima’s hand. “Think you can try moving a little? Not too fast, tiger. Give it a go.” 

Dojima thrust his hips experimentally. And oh shit, that was too good! They both moaned. He’d meant to do only one, just to try it as asked, but once he started…he couldn’t stop. His hips kept going. He picked up speed second by second. His mind shut off and let his internal mandates call the shots .Things he hadn’t touched in years. 

He was fucking Iwai. Actually fucking him. He got up on his knees, slipped his hands under Iwai’s thighs and went to town.

“Goddamn it!” Iwai yelled. “I told you…!”

“Sorry, I’m sorry! So sorry but—I need to—” Dojima heard him, but he was way past the point where he could control himself.

“Fuck, shit, don’t apologize just—ah!” Iwai dug his fingernails into Dojima’s scalp. It hurt but it ratcheted him up even more. “Just keep going, you bastard! Ah! AH fuck that feels—amazing, don’t stop!”

Out of all the things Dojima had heard across the listening device, he’d never heard Iwai sounding like this. Right now he sounded overwhelmed and loving every minute of it. Dojima hoped he was giving him the kind of ride he hadn’t had in a while. Something maybe he’d been craving too. So that they could be anywhere near equal ground. 

He surrendered himself to Iwai’s voice. It was now much higher. Gasping and unsteady. He sounded like he was getting plowed and that’s exactly what Dojima wanted to hear. 

“Ah—ah, ah, ah….sh-shit, you’re there, you’re right there, stay there…!” 

Here? Was this the spot Dojima had been touching before? He did as he was told and hammered it with everything he had.

Iwai’s sounds faded into silence studded with an occasional grunt. His face was twisted in pleasure, he looked like he was about to cum, or maybe pass out. But Dojima wasn’t in any better shape! He was sweating hard. He thought he might be having a heart attack. Still, there was no way he could stop now! Never! Not until…he just needed a little more—

With a broken yell, Iwai came. Dojima wasn’t ready for it. Some of it hit him in the face and he gasped at the sheer wetness of it. But he rolled with the punches and kept going. At that moment, Iwai clenched on him so hard— 

He came too. It was an instinctual orgasm; he burrowed deep into Iwai and came with all his might. Emptying himself. Every last drop. Everything he’d bottling up inside since this whole crazy thing began. He emptied everything inside Iwai (well, technically inside the condom, but his brain didn’t know the difference) and felt much lighter when he was done. 

He collapsed on top of him. Panting. Tasting Iwai’s breath in his mouth as they breathed together. Sweaty and stuck to each other in all kinds of ways. Fucked. 

Their hands found each other naturally. Dojima kissed Iwai’s knuckles. Rubbing his face into those small bones. Also naturally. 

“Just like I thought…” Iwai mused, stroking Dojima’s hair. “You’re a fucking animal in the sack, Detective.” 

Dojima tried to suss out the compliment in that statement. He hoped there actually was one. He would choose to believe there was. Then he said, “You can call me my name sometimes. It’s Ryotaro.” 

“Ryotaro…” Something hazy passed across Iwai’s eyes. He seemed mystified. Or, something. “I like that.” 

Dojima smiled. He moved to pull out, then he felt a twinge in his cock that could only mean one thing. 

“Hey…” Dojima asked softly, kissing down the side of Iwai’s face. “Can I…make love to you again? In a little bit?” He was definitely going to need one more here. 

Iwai’s hazy eyes widened. “Make…love?” That did it. For whatever reason. He laughed so hard he was literally gasping. When he realized Dojima was serious, he slowly stopped. “Uh…yeah. You can. Sure…Ryotaro.” 

Satisfied, Dojima didn’t even bother pulling out. He laid down on Iwai’s chest and waited for the right time to start again. 

Although, Iwai’s arms around him felt better than anything.

______________________________________________________

 

Later that night, after they’d both cum enough for a lifetime (or at least, the next twelve hours) and showered, they sat in bed together watching TV. Dojima was watching some drama about a girl who couldn’t stop turning into a fox whenever she was around the guy she liked. The actors were all young and attractive. Dojima thought he’d seen ads for this around the city, but he couldn’t remember the name. It was watchable enough. They all spoke as if they were acting on a stage or something, though. Very melodramatic.

“Hey.” 

He turned towards Iwai who was standing next to the bed. He’d been digging around his closet for the past few minutes. Now there was something in his hand….

“Here. Catch.” 

He lobbed the thing at Dojima, who caught it just barely. His mind stuttered around the object in his hand for a few minutes. When he finally put together what it was—he nearly exploded from his heart to his brain to the tips of his hair. 

“Wh-what the fuck is this?!” he screeched. Not sure if he should drop it or how to hold it exactly! 

“A present for you,” Iwai explained. He crawled back into bed. Settling down next to Dojima, looking content. “My friend Tsuda, you know the one you asked me about? He got this off a guy last night. Some guy named Ichijo. That’s the one you wanted, right?” 

Dojima’s hands were shaking. This was a fucking gun! A real gun, probably! None of that air soft shit Iwai sold in his shop! Dojima couldn’t remember the last time he’d held a real gun. Probably back at the police academy. What a disgusting thing; this gun might have killed people before. It was black and heavy inside a plastic bag. There was a line of bright blue paint spread across the grip in a flashy way. Ichijo’s signature. This was definitely an Ichijo gun alright. 

But…! 

“D-don’t just throw a gun at me!” Dojima sputtered. “That’s not safe!” 

“Come on, it’s not even loaded. Relax.” Iwai yawned. He closed his eyes, ready to go to sleep. “You’re welcome by the way.” 

Dojima gaped at the man he’d just fucked into next week. He looked at the gun again and tried to set his jaw on straight. 

Alright. Moving past the whole…catching a gun in midair thing. This was actually a huge breakthrough in the case. If Tsuda got this gun from the docks the other night—which it sounded like he had—then they finally had some evidence tying Ichijo to the shipment. That was amazing news! A smoking gun—hopefully not literally, but most likely so. They could probably nail Ichijo for good with this. 

The best part was, Dojima hadn’t even mentioned the case to Iwai yet today. He wasn’t been planning on it either. Iwai just volunteered this little ‘gift’ on his own. 

“…Thanks,” he said. After several minutes had passed. 

This really was a hell of a thing. Dojima smirked as he imagined Kawamori’s face the next day. Tamashiro’s too. He’d stroll in there with the case-cracking piece of evidence, all casual. It would be great. (Chain of custody? Eh. Not like they hadn’t done worse.) 

An idea occurred to Dojima. He carefully—very carefully—laid the gun on the nightstand and curled up next to Iwai. They were both still naked (and the lights were still on, shit, he’d seen more of Iwai tonight than he’d seen of anyone living). The heat where they touched felt so good. Closer to familiar now. Dojima wanted to wrap himself in it and never come out. 

“Hey, uh, listen…” He pressed his nose into the nape of Iwai’s neck and inhaled. Breaking out into goosebumps with that lovely smell. “Do you think you could, you know…give me information like that again? Every now and then?” 

“Whaddya mean?” Iwai grumbled. He tangled his legs between Dojima’s. “You mean like be your informant?”

“Well, yeah. If you want.” Dojima shrugged. He’d never had an actual informant before, but Iwai was as close as he could hope to get—

“Tch. Of course. What do you think I am now, Detective? I’m your informant.” His eyes were still closed. He opened one to give Dojima a quizzical look. “I mean, Ryotaro.” 

Okay, now Iwai was saying his name too much. There was no winning with this guy. At least he’d agreed. Now Dojima had a good connection with someone on the inside (ish) of all this yakuza business. He was sure he’d need him again. 

For lots of things. 

“So then, it’s okay with you if I…need you?” Dojima heard the way that sounded. He meant it to sound that way. For once. 

Iwai turned around to face him. He stroked the side of his face and pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

“Yeah. That’s okay with me.” 

What else could Dojima ask for? 

“Glad to hear it.”

 

 

 

 

The end. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done!! Finally! And they're a thing :) Took them long enough, am I right? 
> 
> Okay, so the story's done. But here's the good news. This is now my headcanon :) And headcanon means I can on and on forever about this ship. So it's done but it's not over (is it ever really over, friends? Is it? Tell me, please.) Who knows, I might write more some day. Some day, some day! 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, guys. I really hope you enjoyed this tale about two dads that are super into each other because of Reasons. This is where I live. 
> 
> Hit me up on the usual social media for chats! (tumblr @jeejascoffee, twitter @jeejastea, discord @jeejasz) Love you all <3


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